


The Wolf at the Door

by MotherGoddamn, Rebness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/pseuds/MotherGoddamn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had one goal for his 19th birthday: move out. He’s happy in his new apartment, but things are getting a little weird in his block. And what’s with the strange new super, Mr. Hale? AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a Destiny's Child song in Stiles's mailbox. Sadly, the song in question wasn't _Independent Women._ He sighed heavily and removed the bills (bills, bills) from the cubby, struggling not to drop his groceries. He needed to get a new job, like, _really_ needed to get a new job, and one that paid more than the cost of his rent and some ramen each week.

There was an emergency care package from his dad; he was grateful for that, and ignored the silent rebuke the cans of food and cleaning products presented. He’d made it clear: he wasn’t coming home. He was striking out, being a man, the first of his small circle of friends to have their own place, and so what if it was a condo on the wrong side of town? So what if he slept with a baseball bat? So what if he had had to make the choice between soap and bread one week, and Lydia had told him he smelled like a homeless person?

Fact was, he had an apartment. _She_ may live in a fancy house, with its hot water and three meals a day, but it wasn’t _hers_. She couldn’t sit up till 4am eating peanut butter with a spoon, watching porn on the internet.

‘Not that I do that!’ he said out loud, before realising he had indeed said that out loud, but nobody cared in this condo. Awesome. It wasn’t so awesome that he passed three people who declined to help him carry the load of mail and groceries down the hall, but he could deal with it. He stuck some runaway bills between his teeth and shifted the heavy load in his arms.

The elevator was just ahead of him, and to his dismay already beginning to close. 'Waif! Puth thuh buppon!' he tried to shout through a mouthful of paper to what could only be an Abercrombie and Fitch model standing in the centre of the elevator. The man raised his brows and looked towards Stiles with a faint sneer. He raised a hand and pressed a finger to the console and, shit!  Was he-- was he rapidly hitting the button to _close the damn doors?_

_Motherfucker!_

Stiles picked up the pace, jostling the bags in his arms as he headed for the elevator. He kicked out a leg and cried out as he made contact with the metal.

Stiles glared as he barrelled into the elevator, spitting the envelopes on top of the groceries. ‘Really, dude? _Really_?’

The man looked at him with a considering expression for a moment before nodding. ‘Yes. Really.’

‘Dude, that is every type of not okay.’ He indicated to the overflowing groceries. ‘Do you see these? Would it kill you to be, like, decent and keep the damn doors open?’

The man blinked. Twice. Then sighed heavily.

‘Oh, my God, are you really this much of an as--- you know what, no, this is for your shrink to deal with. Four.’

‘Four what?’

‘Uh, four, please?’

‘No, four _what_?’

Stiles shook his head. ‘I’m not calling you sir, guy, that’s for you and your weekend pals. Just hit the damn button for level four, will you?’

The man gave another aggrieved, much suffering sigh, before punching the keypad like it had spread rumours about his sainted mother. God, this guy was a piece of work; he wondered what he’d be like standing in line at the checkout behind someone with coupons.

The ride to the fourth floor was done in silence. He cast a quick glance at the handsome brooding weirdo next to him, but quickly averted his eyes when he realised the handsome brooding weirdo was staring at him with a melancholy air. Oh, Christ. He’d better not get mugged in his own building again. His dad would never let him hear the end of it.

The elevator gave a ping as it reached the fourth floor. ‘Thanks,’ he said without thinking as he stepped out of the elevator. _Damnit._ Why did he always do that? Thank you for sharing my air for all of fourteen seconds. So good of you. Especially saying it to rude, albeit insanely hot, guy like that.

He fled to the safety of his apartment and set down the packages as he reached for his key and turned it in the lock, before kicking everything inside.

 _‘Four what? Oh, I’m so brooding and hot! Oh, look at my stupidly strong jawline and my facial symmetry!’_ he muttered in a deep voice, slamming the door shut. ‘Jackass.’

'Who’s a jackass?’

'GAH!' Stiles jumped backwards, clashing back and hitting the wall with a pained grunt. 'Lydia! What the hell?'

She stared at him from the couch and shrugged, popping a Reese’s Piece into her mouth. 'What?'

Stiles held a hand over his chest, his heart beating wildly. 'What are you doing here?'

She tilted her head at him in confusion. 'I had a key made.'

'You had a--- that's insane! You don't _live_ here!'

She flapped a hand. 'Oh, please, I could hardly wait around for you to get home now, could I?' Inspecting her nails, she sniffed. 'And Jackson is being a total jerk so I'm staying here for a few days.' She patted at her handbag. ‘Don’t worry. I brought my mace.’

‘It’s not _that_ bad, Lydia. It’s just--’ He clicked his fingers. ‘It’s rustic. It’s got character!’ It’s got--‘

‘Police tape outside apartment 501?’

 _‘Again?’_ Stiles didn’t want to victim-blame but his neighbours sure loved getting murdered. ‘Fantastic! Of course. Why does everything always happen to _me_?’

‘Oh, my God!’ She looked up from filing her nails. ‘Why are you _so_ moody today?’

‘Because people suck, that’s why! Like majorly suck. Like Piers Morgan type level of suckage.’ He flopped down beside her and she immediately hoisted her legs upon his lap. Somewhere in his mind, sixteen-year-old Stiles was punching the air. Nineteen-year-old Stiles, however, wanted to shout at her because now he’d have to do his laundry, again. God, did it ever end?

‘What?’ she asked. ‘You look so serious.’

How to tell her that her glass of Coke had left a ring on the table? He bit his fist with frustration.

There was a time in Stiles's life where the thought of a certain strawberry blonde lounging on his couch eating all his food would have made his head spin. That was before the _reality_ of having Lydia Martin in his beloved home had come to pass. As lovely and thick as that hair was, it tended to lose its appeal after the seventh hundredth time he'd had to remove it from his shower drain.

He closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. Maybe what he really needed, other than a job that didn’t suck, was to get laid. That would take the edge off. His mind wandered to the guy in the elevator and-- nope. Nope. He gave a violent shudder.

‘Have I done something wrong?’ Lydia asked, her eyes large, her voice sincere. ‘Is it because I deleted _Dancing With The Stars_ from your TiVO?’

‘No, no,’ he sighed.’It’s -- wait, what?’

‘I needed the space! Discovery is doing a week-long special on Tesla's theory of free energy!’ She patted his knee. ‘You can make me something for dinner and then we can watch the first part.’

‘I cannot believe I’m actually feeling sorry for Jacks-- _Ow_!’ He rubbed at his head and glared. ‘Fine, fine.‘It’s just been a long day. I had so many things go wrong in work today, and then I ran out of gas on the way home, and there was this jackass who kept _staring_ at me in the elevator--’

She clapped her hand on his knee. ‘Oh, was he cute?’

He snorted. ‘That’s not relevant, Lydia!’ He shrugged. ‘A little, I guess.’

‘Hotter than Jackson?’

‘Wait, what is this?’ he said, pushing her feet off his lap. ‘I’m not comparing men for you! And anyway, Jackson looks like a dead-eyed snake or something.’

‘I’ll tell him you said that,’ she said lightly. ‘So this cute guy stares, but he’s not a dead-eyed snake?’

‘No.’

‘And we’re talking a strong jawline and facial symmetry? Like, full-on facial symmetry?’

‘You were listening to me?’ he gasped.

‘You were talking to yourself!’ she said. ‘What was I supposed to do? Cover my ears so I didn’t overhear you _thinking_? Here’s a tip, Stiles: if you don’t want me to know what you’re thinking, stop saying it!’

Stiles scowled. ‘Look, talking to myself is a thing that I do. If you’re going to stay here -- also, you need to use a coaster -- you need to know that, and deal with it.’

‘Oh, my God, Stiles, we really need to get you a boyfriend. Or a dog! Something for you to focus your insane energy on and get you away from this coaster obsession of yours.’

‘It’s like you draw around your cups with _marker_ , Lydia!’

‘Yup.’ She pointed her nail file at him. ‘Definitely a boyfriend.’

‘I don’t need a man to define me! I’m a strong independent person in control of his life and his ambitions!’

She stared at him. ‘That reminds me. I also deleted _The View_.’

Stiles groaned, dropping his head in his hands. ‘I really, really need to get laid, don't I?’

‘Yes,’ said Lydia with a sad nod. ‘You really, really do.’


	2. Chapter 2

‘I know you’ve been in your new apartment for all of two months,’ said Scott, ‘and I really don’t want to judge – but you have a hole in your bathroom floor.’

Stiles didn’t look up from his computer. ‘Oh, yeah. That. Old Holey.’ He waved his hand. ‘The new super is supposed to be coming to look at it this afternoon.’

‘Well, your neighbour below said to pass on his regards. And critiqued my aim,’ said Scott. He sat down and began flicking through a magazine. Then, after a few minutes: ‘You know, it’s cool and all that you’re being so independent… but don’t you think it would maybe have been better to save up a bit more money?’

‘For what?’

‘...So you could pay the deposit on a better place -- don’t look at me like that -- I mean, I have to promise my mom I’ll send her a text hourly whenever I come over here.’ He blinked. ‘Oh, crap!’ He pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the buttons. ‘ _Still alive. Cancel Mountain Rescue._ ’

‘It’s not that bad! Honestly! And everyone here is really friendly. You saw how happy those kids outside were to see me.’

‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s because you accidentally _joined their gang_. Although, you do have mad game making words out of your fingers, so it’s understandable.’ He pulled his legs under him on the couch and turned to face Stiles. ‘Listen, we’re just worried about you. That’s all. And not just me. Allison, too.’

‘Dude, not that I don’t appreciate the concern or how you managed not to levitate in bliss just on saying Allison’s name, but I’m totally awesome here, okay. I mean, Lydia is, _somehow_ , living with me and you aren’t all freaking out over her safety.’

‘Because Lydia can take care of herself! You’re-- you’re, like, _really_ fragile.’

Stiles paused his game and turned to Scott with narrowed eyes. ‘Thanks for that. No, really. My confidence was flying too high anyway today. I’m glad you could drop by and totally emasculate me.’

‘It’s not like that! I’m just saying if someone tried to murder you it would be super easy. Like really, really not-even-need-a-weapon easy!’

‘Hey! I’m intimidating! I got moves!’

Scott squinted at the screen. ‘Are you playing as Baby Peach?’

‘Yes! Yes, I am! Know why? Because all the others underestimate her and she’s so light she even manages to survive freaking Rainbow Road.’ Stiles shook his head. ‘I identify with her. You know. We’ve both been through some shit.’

Scott rubbed his nose. ‘You and… Baby Peach,’ he said blandly.

‘Let me have this, Scott.’ He gazed at his friend earnestly. ‘So I make a comedic comparison. It’s how I deal with things, isn’t it? It’s how I keep away all the bad stuff just itching to ruin my day.’

Scott’s expression softened. ‘I know.’ He stood up. ‘I know, man. And that’s a good way to be. It’s why you’re my best friend, so don’t sweat it,’ he said placatingly as he moved towards the door. ‘I’ve got to get going, but we’re cool, right?’

Stiles smiled. ‘Yeah, we’re cool.’ He picked up the controller again as Scott opened the door. ‘Tell your mom that I’m fine, too.’

‘Will do … hey,’ said Scott. ‘The super is here.’ He pulled the door open a little wider. ‘Uh… how long have you been outside, Mr...?’

‘Hale.’

‘Yeah, I didn’t hear you knock..?’

Stiles heard what appeared to be a grunt of a reply as he changed games over to something a bit more bullet and blood laden, and then Scott’s affable small talk before he called out that he was going now, but would be back later.

‘Okay,’ said Stiles. He raised his voice a little. ‘The hole’s in the bathroom, super! You just let yourself in!’

Silence.

He returned to the game he was playing, concentrating fiercely as he shot his way through the enemy lines, completed a mission and then tried to escape the pauses for plot.

‘Hey, uh,’ he called out, remembering that he was supposed to do something _adult_ now, like offer a drink. He hoped he didn’t need to offer the super a beer: it was surprising how stingy you had to be with your beer when you earned minimum wage. ‘Do you want some coffee while you’re fixing things up in there?’

‘Coffee would be a good start,’ said a low voice behind him.

With a scream of shock, he flailed in his chair, attempted to turn around and stand at the same time, and fell to the floor with a pained groan. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ he asked, looking up.

The super stood over him, impassive, his eyes solemn, his mouth downturned, in what Stiles would later decide was an eternal frown which totally meant he’d made that face one day as a child and the wind had stuck it that way. ‘I don’t take sugar,’ he said.

Son of a bitch, it was the handsome brooding weirdo dick!

‘Hey, it’s _you!_ You were so rude to me yesterday, by the way!’ said Stiles, clambering to his feet. ‘The elevator?’

‘The elevator,’ said the super thoughtfully, as if pronouncing the word for the first time in his life.

‘Yes, the elevator. With the pushing buttons thing!’

‘Generally,’ said the super, ‘you have to push a button if you want to go anywhere. In the elevator.’

Stiles smiled. ‘Glad to see I hadn’t just caught you on a bad day. This is apparently your default setting!’

The super frowned. ‘Have we met?’

‘Oh, my God,’ muttered Stiles shaking his head. He was a complete and utter head-case. And had probably had a key to Stiles’ apartment. He was going to have to barb wire that damn baseball bat. ‘I’m Stiles. I’m the person you shut the doors on when I was laden down with seventeen million bags like an inconsiderate asshole.’

The super, the _bastard_ , gave a soft nostalgic smile. ‘Hale.’

Stiles blinked. ‘Caesar?’

‘No, it’s my name, idiot. Hale.’

‘Don’t call me-- No, no. This is exhausting. Never mind. Uh… anyway. Do you want to follow me to the bathroom?’

Hale cast him a suspicious look, one hand dusting down his paint-splattered overall. ‘Why?’

‘To -- to fix the _thing_!’ said Stiles, gesturing for him to follow as he led the way. He paused in the doorway to the bathroom, pressing himself up against the doorframe as Mr. Hale pushed past him.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘The problem – _the problem_!– is that there is a hole the size of a labrador in my bathroom floor!’

 ‘That’s the sum of your problems?’ said Hale scornfully. He put down his tool kit and stared off into the distance. ‘You don’t know problems until your house is a series of rotten flooring and windows which let in the howls of the wind, a slough of snow in winter and harsh, unhappy sunlight in summer’s verdant grasp—‘

‘I don’t see how that makes this any less a problem, though.’

‘—And this purgatory is only augmented by the deep void in your own heart, this endless yearning to know the caress of another once more, if only for the fraction of an instant—‘

Stiles frowned. ‘Are we still talking about me? Because I’ve totally had sex before.’

Mr. Hale gave him a tolerant look. ‘Sure.’

Stiles clapped his hands together. ‘Oh- _kay_! We’re not discussing this. I’ll go get on with my game, you fix the hole.’ He paused, seeing the super’s withering stare. ‘Please … sir?’

‘You promised me coffee,’ said Hale. He placed a hand against Stiles’ chest and began to push him backwards through the door. ‘Remember, no sugar. If you forget this cardinal rule, I’ll eat you.’

‘Wait, what?’

The super nodded solemnly, then shut the door in his face.

Stiles blinked rapidly. ‘Douche,’ he muttered, pulling back from the door when something, presumably a fist, was slammed into it.

He poured a cup of coffee out for the super, unsurprised at the lack of thanks for the same, and returned to his videogame. _Fine_. He would be antisocial, too. He put his ipod on and turned the music up loud so he didn’t have to hear Hale grunting and grumbling his way through doing his job.

He had maybe a blissful ten minutes before his happy bachelor life was once again interrupted: ‘STILES!’

He nearly leapt out of his skin at the scream. He pulled off his headphones and turned around to see Lydia standing behind him. ‘Stiles!’ she repeated. ‘This place looks like hell. You’re going to have to clean it up while I choose an outfit.’

‘What? What outfit? _Clean_?’

‘Yeah? For the party!’ she said, patting his nose. ‘Everybody’s coming. I invited the whole block.’ She frowned. ‘I may have invited both the Crips and the Bloods because I couldn’t remember the colour code there but, hey, the more the merrier!’ She walked over to the open-plan kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot. ‘This is good.’

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. ‘Lydia! This is _not_ okay!’ He stormed over to her. ‘This is _my_ apartment and _you_ are my guest, you _do not make the rules_!’ He slammed his fist on the counter in what he hoped was a manly fashion. ‘You do _not_ do stuff like this without consulting me first!’

Lydia stared at him, her expression deadpan.  

‘Do you understand?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, completely. Now, you start with the den and I’ll get to work on the kitchen.’ She looked up as the bathroom door opened across the hall, and the super appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh! How are _you_?’

‘Fine, thank you,’ he said pleasantly, as if she’d drawn the dark angry demon from hell out of him. His eyes were soft and seemed to shimmer with different shades of lush green, hazel and the barest hint of azure as he spoke. Lydia evidently noticed, for she practically purred with pleasure when he said: ‘You must be the girl they’re all talking about on this floor.’

‘In a good way?’

He nodded, flashing her a handsome smile. ‘Of course.’

‘Why don’t you come on over here and say hello?’ she said, holding out her hand. He walked across the room to them and took her hand, but kissed it instead of shaking it.

‘ _Enchanté_ ,’ he said.

Lydia giggled. ‘Merci.’

'So you're having a party,' said Hale, dropping her hand and casting her a dashing look.

'That's right,' said Lydia, smiling winningly. 'And you're not going to complain or tell us we can't have one, are you?'

Hale’s smiled widened. ‘'Is that right?'

‘Yes. See, you can’t complain, because you're invited.'

He laughed. It was a quiet laugh, gentle; unpretentious. Stiles decided it was too nice a laugh for such a douchebag. 'All right,' said Hale. 'I'll drop in.'

Lydia smiled. 'Good. Come any time after seven. Wear something nice. I’m sure you scrub up even better. You are _working_ those paint splatters.’  

He nodded. ‘Thank you. I’ll just get my tools and see myself out.’

Lydia turned to Stiles, her eyes shining with admiration as Hale collected his belongings and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

'Why did you invite him!' snapped Stiles.

Lydia shrugged. 'Because he's the super and knowing the staff helps make life easier.' She poured out a cup of coffee and took a sip. 'Besides,' she said, 'what was I supposed to do? You'd already told him about it.'

'What! I didn't say anything!'

She rolled her eyes. 'Don't be absurd. You heard him ask me about it. You must have told him.'

Stiles frowned. 'Or he listened in.'

'All the way from the bathroom? Behind a closed door? Over the sound of a drill?' She moved away from the counter and sat on the couch, turning the television on. 'Please. You don't need to be coy. I see why you like him.'

‘Oh? You saw I liked him? Was my _making violent slashing motions across my throat_ as you invited him backto _my_ home the giveaway?’

‘He seems perfectly charming, Stiles. Plus,’ she winked, ‘you saw him, right?’ She fanned herself with her hand. ‘I mean -- seriously? Those cheekbones, my word!’ ’

‘Yes, I _saw_ him. I saw him stomp and grunt all over the place. The guy’s a jerk!’

‘But a sexy jerk, right?’

Stiles groaned, following her and dropping down onto the couch. ‘Just because someone is smoking hot doesn’t mean they can go around thinking they own the place and being totally rude and obnoxious, Lydia.’ He paused. ‘No offence.’

She flipped her curls over her shoulder with a bright smile. ‘None taken.’ She pursed her lips and gave him an appraising look. ‘We are going to have to clean you up for this party if we want you on his radar. Hmm. That means no plaid. How many shirts do I have to burn before you get the hint?’

‘I don’t _want_ to be on his radar! I want to Captain Phillips the fuck away from that radar, thank you!’

‘ _This must be known, which, being kept close, might move._ _More grief to hide than hate to utter love_.’

Stiles sighed. ‘Can’t you just do the lady doth protest too much thing? Like a normal person? Even though I’m not, though. Protesting. Protesting too much, I mean. Or at all. Or a lady dothing. Or a lady. Damnit, Lydia! I don’t like the stupid jerkface!’

Lydia clapped her hands together. ‘I’m so excited! Tell you what, can you be  a sweetie and clean the kitchen, as well? I just have too much to do in the way of my hair and make-up--’ She tapped at her lips. ‘Hmm, I’d better find an outfit with an equal amount of blue and red to show my neutrality.’

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. This was going to be a complete disaster.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Excuse me-- just let me...’

‘Hey, that’s my beer, man!’

‘That’s _my_ beer, which _I_ paid for, resting on _my_ table without a coaster.’ Stiles cast the partygoer a vicious glare as he placed the beer bottle on a coaster.

‘Stiles, it’s a party. Lighten up!’ Lydia shouted over the music. ‘Plus, I think you might be in serious danger of getting shanked.’

Stiles spun towards the sound of her voice, very much with the intention of telling her where she could put her shank when instead he ran into the Berlin Wall. Otherwise known as the super’s chest. ‘Oof!’ he gasped in pain, reeling backwards as he held his nose. No blood, thankfully. ‘Watch where you’re going, pal!’

‘Why should I watch where I’m going?’ said Hale. ‘I was _standing_ here. You ran into me.’

‘That’s the problem,’ said Stiles. ‘You’re _always_ standing and staring--’

‘Stiles!’ said Lydia, slapping his arm lightly as she came up behind him. ‘Canap _é_?’

Hale frowned. ‘No thanks. A beer, though--’

Scott and Allison walked up to them. Scott, as affable and social cue aware as ever, handed Hale a bottle. ‘Hey, nice to see you again,’ said Scott, his voice infused with such genuine warmth that Stiles felt a vague flicker of irritation: couldn’t Scott sense that this was his latest nemesis?

He turned to Lydia. ‘You know I have to be at work in--’ he looked at his watch. ‘Five hours, right?’

'Why?' Hale grunted. 'What do you do? Other than make people want to set themselves on fire?'

Stiles snorted, turning to him with a raised brow. 'I'm a waiter in a cocktail bar.'

‘ _When I met yooou.'_ Lydia, Scott and Allison murmured in unison.

'Seriously? _Every_ time?' He spread his hands. ‘You think that’s ever going to get old?’

Allison shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s cute.’ She pinched his cheek. ‘ _You’re_ cute!’

‘Right?’ said Lydia. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying.’ She turned to Hale. ‘Don’t you think my friend is super cute---, super, um-- what’s your name, again?’

‘Derek. Derek Hale,’ he said. ‘Thanks for asking me that. Most people--’ he cast a disapproving glare at Stiles, ‘--most people think they’re above asking the super’s name.’

‘ _Awkward_...’ said Allison, taking a sip of her drink.

Derek snorted. ‘’So, you’re a waiter in a cocktail bar?’ he asked, turning to Stiles.

 _‘That much is true.’_ Okay, even Stiles joined in that time.

Derek smiled grudgingly. ‘How do you find it?’

‘Oh, you know. I use Google maps.’ Stiles burst out laughing nervously, but apart from Scott’s good-natured grin, the others regarded him stonily.

‘I see,’ said Derek, looking deeply unimpressed.

‘Hey, guys!’ Lydia said brightly. ‘Did I show you the newly fixed hole in the bathroom? It’s fantastic! As far as fixed holes go it’s certainly in the top ten. Do you want to see?’

‘Sure!’ Allison nodded excitedly. ‘Wouldn’t that be great, Scott?’

‘Nah, you two go ahead. I’m going to get another bee-- ow, why are you kicking?’ Scott cried rubbing his shin and shooting Allison a hurt look. ‘Why are you kicking me _again_?’

‘Sorry! Pins and needles!’ Her smile was anything but sincere. ‘Maybe you can help me make it to the bathroom. Since my feet are so unpredictable and all.’

‘Can’t Lyd-- Okay, okay!’ Scott held up his hands in panic. ‘Seriously, you need to get those feet checked out.’

‘No, Stiles.’ Lydia placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back. ‘You go get our guest something to eat.’

‘But I want to see my hole that Derek fil---’ Stiles stopped, took Derek’s can from his hand and took a large swig. ‘That didn’t happen,’ he answered handing it back and feeling the heat in his cheeks.

Derek smirked as the others, the dicks, made a quick getaway. ‘Sure.’

‘So,’ said Stiles.

‘So,’ said Derek.

‘Thank you for fixing the bathroom floor--’

Derek waved his hand dismissively. ‘It was nothing. It’s my job. I’d tell you to do yours and get me a drink, but your buddy took care of that.’

‘I could get you something to eat, like princess ordered.’

Derek shrugged. ‘No, it’s all right. I’m not hungry.’ He frowned. ‘It’s been a very hard week, you know?’

Stiles nodded. ‘I get that. Sometimes life’s just a bit crap, is all. ‘

‘I wish it were just that,’ sighed Derek. He laughed softly to himself. ‘Ignore me. Why am I dragging you down at a party? You don’t want to hear about grief and loneliness when you’re trying to have a good time.’

‘Wow. Okay.’ Stiles put his hands in his pockets, turning his head away. ‘So, what about those Mets?’

‘I know we hit it off on the wrong foot,’ Derek was saying. ‘You have to forgive me--’

‘Uh huh, I do,’ said Stiles. Man, they were taking a long time in the bathroom. He hoped Lydia hadn’t found his stash.

‘-- I just go through these periods where I find it hard to even get up, you know? But I wanted to come tonight, because you seem like an okay guy--’

Stiles felt a thrill of terror crash through him. What if they’d found the beads? It had been a _prank_ gift from Danny! God, they’d totally believe that he used them because he’d hidden them away.

‘--We could, you know, catch a game or something sometime--’

That was it, wasn’t it? They’d found the beads and now they were in the bathroom, laughing at him and probably holding them up in disgust and loading up Instagram--

‘I’m sorry,’ snapped Derek, cutting into his thoughts. ‘I’m clearly boring you. Allow me to rectify this.’

Before Stiles could react, he stalked away. He started to utter a half-hearted protest, but remembered the bathroom and pushed through the crowd of people to go and save his dignity.

‘They were were for Mardi Gras!’

He collided with Scott as he exited the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to see that his friends were chatting happily in there, no beads in sight.

‘What was for Mardi Gras?’ asked Scott.

‘Nothing!’

Scott nudged him. ‘And why are you over here, anyway? We left to give you some space with Derek. Did you get his number?’

‘What, no! Was this a thing I was supposed to be doing? I already have his number.’ He pointed at the floor. ‘Hence why we are no longer flashing Mr. Rivers.’

‘I’m going to miss him,’ mused Lydia. ‘He was awful complimentary. Certainly much more than Jackson.’ She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘He really _noticed_ things, you know?’

‘That’s his work number, Stiles! I mean his _home_ number,’ said Scott .’You know, for personal things. Like-- dates?’

‘Well, why would I nee-- oh, no. No. Nope. You guys can’t be serious. It’s totally not like that.’

‘Uh huh?’ Allison said. ‘And that’s why you’ve managed to shoehorn him into every single subject all night?’

‘This beer sucks, you know what else sucks? That super from the elevator. I can’t find my shoes, that’s annoying, you know what else is annoying, that super! This new toilet roll chafes and did I mention the new super with the hair and the face?’

‘I sound nothing like that, Scott.’ Stiles snapped, glaring at what was possibly a Hell’s Angel raiding his fridge. ‘It’s no wonder they kicked you out of the amateur dramatics society, you robot.’

‘Oh, this is getting ridiculous!’ Lydia grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the den. Her stare roamed over the room, calculating and heat seeking. ‘Look! He’s out there on the fire escape. Looking all romantic and Byronesque.’ Lydia pushed at him again. ‘Go speak to him! Fake a faint so he can catch you in his manly arms.’

‘Fake a--- what the hell? And I’m pretty sure he hates me, Lydia, and I’ve been perfectly nice to him! All he does is snarl and eyebrow me to death! He’d probably just let me fall over the barrier. Or drop kick. Trust me, that guy is not someone you practise a trust fall with.’

Lydia smirked. ‘Just admit it. You are so crushing on him. It’s super cute.’

‘When have I ever gave the impression I was crushing? We can barely share the same air without snapping at each other.’ _So what if he has the body of a Greek God and the face of-- something similar but face wise. So? I’m not crushing. Shut up._

‘It’s called chemistry!’

‘It’s called the beginning of a slot on _America’s Most Wanted!_ ’

‘Oh, stop being so dramatic. Go on, go be his Cathy to his Heathcliff.’ She shoved at his back. Hard.

‘And that’s _not_ dramatic? Plus, that’s just shorthand for being a pair of assholes. If anyone I’m Edgar, that guy got it, like, well harsh.’ He shook his head. ‘No, you can’t make me go out there! He’s like a total dementor. Seriously. He sucked all the happy out of me!’

‘Whoa, get it, Stiles!’ said Scott approaching with a hearty clap to his back. ‘You got game!’

‘No, the happy, the happy--- shut up!’

‘Look,’ said Allison, her arms wrapped around Scott, ‘Go talk to him before he leaves. Invite him out with us if you want!’

‘I _don’t_ want--’ he began, but Allison and Lydia had already steered him towards the door, shoved him through it, and closed it behind him. Sighing, he made his way over to Derek. He had to give it to Lydia - the guy did look like something out of a Gothic Romance. He was sitting on one of the steps, smoking a cigarette.

‘What is it?’ said Derek, without looking around.

‘Those things will kill you,’ said Stiles, gesturing to the cigarette.

He gave a humourless smirk. ‘No, they won’t.’ His eyes were large and thoughtful as Stiles wandered over to him and sat down next to him, his breath curling like smoke itself in the cold night air. ‘Is that why you followed me out here?’ he asked, ‘to give me a lecture on smoking?’

Stiles shrugged. ‘No, man. I was -- I’m sorry I was rude back there. I was just worried about something.’

‘You care too much about what people think of you,’ said Derek.

‘I didn’t come out to say sorry just because I was told to!’

‘That isn’t what I mean,’ said Derek. ‘And you know it.’

Stiles opened his mouth to disagree, but the lie wouldn’t come: Derek was gazing at him so earnestly now, he felt it would cheapen the moment to say anything at all.

Derek’s face softened and brightened, as if he’d plucked the thoughts from Stiles’s head. ‘You don’t have to say anything. Maybe we understand each other better that way.’

And then the fire escape was flooded with light momentarily as someone switched on the light in Lydia’s bedroom and then switched it off again, and in that instant Derek’s eyes were glittering, reflective. They looked _inhuman_.

Stiles recoiled. ‘Dude, what the fu--’

Derek blinked, turned away, rubbing at his eyes. ‘I have this _condition_ ,’ he said, rubbing at them furiously. When he turned back to Stiles, his eyes had their soft human look once more. Stiles peered at him in the darkness, trying to comprehend what he had just seen.

‘ _Leave it_!’ said Derek roughly, his face the picture of dismay when Stiles backed up further. ‘Wait, I’m sorry...’ It sounded kicked from his throat. ‘I lost control.’

Stiles forced himself to calm down. It had been a stressful day. They’d both been drinking; doubtless he’d have that nightmare where the clown came to lick his feet again tonight. ‘Listen, you’re right. We did get off on the wrong foot. Because of you, mainly.’

Derek frowned.

‘But let’s not argue over who or who isn’t to blame, it’s _you_ by the way, but on, like, sorting this out. We both have to live here, right?’ Stiles held out a hand. ‘Let’s start over. I’m Stiles Stilinski.’

‘That’s a terrible name.’

‘Not--- not really embracing the olive branch like I hoped, man.’

A silvery trail of moonlight illuminated Derek’s face. Stiles glanced up; almost a full moon, it was big and fat in the sky, and rendered everything serene. Well, apart from the wail of police sirens below and the block dealers shouting at everyone. He swallowed. Okay, so it was corny and like something from one of those films where people clung together crying in the rain and kissing, but he felt something swell within him. Again, he felt like his big mouth would ruin the moment, so instead he reached out and boldly laid his hand on Derek’s shoulder, surprised at himself for taking the risk.

‘I told you,’ said Derek. ‘Talking cheapens things.’ He raised his hand to Stiles’s, then seemed to think better of it and took another long drag on his cigarette.

‘Well, yeah, but it did take several conversations before I learned your name,’ Stiles said. ‘There’s so much I don’t know about you -- and you don’t know about me, clearly...’

Derek, however, had turned away again: this time he was looking out towards the city, turning his head slightly from left to right, as if listening for something. ‘I have to go,’ he said, standing up abruptly. ‘I really have to go.’  

‘But didn’t you want--’

‘I’m on the second floor, apartment 212. Come see me if you want. _Not_ tomorrow night.’ He leaned back against the railing.

Stiles reached out for him. ‘The door’s this way -- can you not - can you stop climbing over the bars like that, please!’

To his utter horror, Derek vaulted over the side and clambered down the railings with preternatural speed.

‘No fucking way,’ Stiles breathed. ‘Just no way!’

_What the hell was that?_


	4. Chapter 4

‘It doesn’t look _that_ far,’ said Scott, sounding unimpressed. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it.’

‘Uh, because it’s a 30ft freaking drop,’ cried Stiles, running his hands through his hair. ‘You know, the kind that would break most people’s ankles?’

‘Pfft. I could probably do it.’ Scott gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Easy.’

Stiles gripped the railing of the fire escape and looked over the side. It was impossible. He _should_ have broken his ankles. He should have _made a sound_ as he landed, even an involuntary gasp. Freaking world-class gymnast or not, he should have hesitated.

He hadn’t. Derek had raised his head like a predator scenting its prey and vaulted over the railings, and he didn’t care for Scott’s scepticism or Lydia’s explanations and anecdotes about people who had survived falls from planes. He knew what he had seen.

‘Inhuman,’ he muttered. ‘Like an animal.’

‘Yeah, like a bunny or something,’ Scott snorted. ‘Or a hamster. Or a guinea pi--’

‘Is this about him jumping before you got a chance to jump _him_?’ Lydia patted him insincerely. ‘Did you do something to upset him? Were you,’ her voice lowered in horror, ‘yourself?’

‘Of course I was myself! I’m awesome!’ He waved around his face. ‘Plus, I got all this going on. And anyway, I don’t want to jump him! You are all way more invested in this then I am, you realise.’

‘We’re not the ones making up stories about Derek to keep the _sexy mystery_ going,’ said Lydia.

He flushed when the memory sprang, unbidden, to him: last night’s dream, where Derek had been a vampire in an opera cape, creeping into his bedroom to bite him. It had been interesting, what with the all the dry ice and the booming soundtrack, like that homoerotic 80s music video -- well, just about any 80s music video.

‘Stiles?’

He turned to Lydia again. ‘Oh-- yeah, anyway. No matter what you say, he still totally somersaulted into the darkness, like… like some eighties music video vampire...’

Scott gave him a puzzled look. ‘What?’

‘Oh, so you think that Derek just took a swan dive from a fourth floor fire escape, then?’ Lydia laughed drily. ‘Because that is logically the only solution, isn’t it?’

‘It’s really not that high,’ sniffed Scott. ‘I bet with a bit of training, I could do it.’

‘Yes! Because I saw it with these!’ Stiles poked himself in the eye and winced. ‘He jumped off here like his Spidey senses were a-tingling or something. It was fucking unreal!’

‘Seriously,’ muttered Scott, ‘you are pinning so many ribbons to this guy for, like, nothing, dude.’

‘Stiles, it’s freezing! Can we please go back inside and stop enabling you now?’ Lydia crossed her arms haughtily. ‘This is getting less interesting by the second.’

‘I’m not making this up!’ Stiles rubbed his still watering eye. ‘I don’t know? Maybe he’s on steroids or something.’ _Well, that would explain the mouth-watering physique but not the strange event with his eyes. And even the most ‘roided up of gym bunnies would hobble after that leap…_

‘Fine,’ said Scott placatingly. ‘We believe you.’ He ignored Lydia, who was shaking her head. ‘So even if he did jump -- so what? Your theory is he’s like a superhero or something?’

‘I don’t know, maybe he’s Batman!’

‘He’s _the super_. Why would he mop floors when he’s like Batman?’

‘Okay, first of all? It’s a comic book. Maybe Batman doesn’t need all that money, Scott. Did you think of that? That maybe they’d exaggerate things a bit?’ Stiles could see he was losing his audience: not only was he up against Scott, who preferred Superman, but he was struggling to be heard over the sound of sirens as emergency vehicles thundered past the apartment block.

‘ _Why_ am I standing out here talking about Batman?’ snapped Lydia.

‘You’ve always had it in for him,’ said Stiles coldly.

‘He made little bat ears for his disguise _when he doesn’t even hear out of them!_ I looked it up, Stiles!’

‘I don’t have to stand here and listen to this abuse,’ said Stiles. ‘You know what, if you guys don’t believe me, then I will just have to prove it myself.’

‘Fabulous,’ sighed Lydia. ‘I look forward to the PowerPoint presentation. You still have the slides from the batsuit seminar you gave me, right?’

‘It was the only way to get you to underst-- oh, my God, Scott! Get down from there before you break your neck!’

* * *

 

Lydia and Scott had barely looked up when Stiles had stormed out of the apartment. They’d been too busy gleefully trying to outdo the other in who could mock him the most. Well, they could go to hell. He knew what he had seen and it hadn’t been _natural._

Hands gripped to his sides and muttering under his breath, he was nearly knocked from his feet when he found himself slamming into another person coming in the opposite direction.

‘Shit, sorry--- _Dad?_ ’ Stiles took a surprised step back. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Stiles--’ His father faltered as he approached, rubbing at his face wearily. ‘I’m going to need you to come with me.’

‘Come with-- oh, dad, no, no! I swear it’s Scott’s and he only had it for medicinal reasons. For his--- glaucoma.’

‘What?’

‘What? I didn’t say---’ Stiles scratched at the back of his head, staring pointedly at the wall above his father’s head. ‘What?’

‘Why are you here, son?’

‘I _live_ here.’

‘I mean, _why do you live here_?’ His father sighed. ‘Do you have any idea how many calls we get about this place? Every time the call comes in, Stiles…’ He gestured to the scene behind him; a door smashed open, cops milling about.

Stiles perked up. ‘Is that--- is that a body?’

‘It’s the second one this month.’

Stiles gave a low whistle. This had better bring the rent down because this was getting beyond the pale. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I think this was the apartment where they played the Bee Gees at like 2am every day.’

His father squinted at him for a moment before heaving a large sigh. ‘Never mind. Listen, I don’t want you staying here. Not while--’ He gestured behind him. ‘While all of this is going on.’

‘All of what? Can I see? Can I see?’ Stiles tried to duck round him but his father was too quick, blocking his view as the body was removed. ‘Dad, seriously, are you okay? You look awful.’ Stiles reached out, his hand around his father’s elbow. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s not--- It’s like nothing I’ve seen before, Stiles.’  He shook his head as if trying to clear his head of the images. ‘I can’t discuss it. You’re the neighbour. You could be a witness.’

Stiles glanced back at the doorway, nothing a bloody handprint upon the white of the frame. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’

And he’d seen his father return from murder scenes before. Of course he had. His father wore a world-weary expression at those times, and Stiles had sat up with him on those nights, for his father never slept in the aftermath of those crime scenes.

He felt a rush of affection for his father. ‘Look, if you want, I can come home with you tonight. We’ll sit up and watch a movie or something. Dad, don’t look like that. I know you worry about me, but you’ve seen these things before and God knows you’ll see them again...’

The sheriff sighed, glancing around to ensure no one was listening as he lowered his voice. ‘No, no… the body, it wasn’t--’ His dad looked at him intently. ‘There’s not much of a body to identify, Stiles.’

A cold thrill went through him. ‘Why not?’ he choked.

‘It was beaten. No, _mauled_. It was like it had been torn apart by--’

‘--An animal?’ Stiles finished solemnly.

His father nodded, fatigue settling around his shoulders like a cloak, ‘Listen, son, I know how important your independence is and I respect the hell out of that, I really do, but please consider coming to stay with me for a while. Not just tonight. Please. Maybe save up some money to think about moving somewhere closer to home. Or just away. From here.’

For a moment, he was tempted. He could even see it: warm showers, food on the table at routine times, and radiators that actually warmed all the way to the top.

But that was the easy way out, wasn’t it? It’s what he’d secretly suspected: the first sign of trouble, and away he’d run. He couldn’t give in so easily. He just couldn’t. He set his mouth in a firm line. ‘I appreciate the offer, dad. But no, I’m going to give it a try. Besides, Lydia’s here. She’ll kick ass.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’ll come home tonight, just for the night. It’ll be like old times.’

His father waved him away. ‘No, don’t worry. I’m working at the station through the night. But visit soon, right?’

‘Right.’

‘And Stiles?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t forgot to text me that you’re still breathing each morning, okay?’

He laughed, but the smile died on his lips when he realised his father was gazing at him solemnly. ‘Yeah, sure. Okay.’

He walked slowly back to his apartment, all thoughts of his frustrations with Lydia and Scott gone. Wrapping his arms around himself in response to a sudden chill that came over him he stopped at his door. At his neck was a slight tingle, one that chased between his shoulder blades and ran down his back. And he _knew_.

Spinning on his heel, he was just in time to see Derek Hale slipping quietly away.

* * *

 

The clock stared at him from his night stand, accusingly informing him that it was 3:32am and definitely not the time for him to be staring back at it. Clutching the baseball bat closer to his chest, he sighed heavily, resigned to the fact he wasn’t sleeping anytime soon.

He should have gone and stayed with his father tonight. Even if he was really working at the station, it would be comforting to come home to a cooked breakfast and someone to disperse the silence of the house. If he got up at six or so, he could probably just get up and drive across town to see his father.

Good. Problem taken care of. Now to sleep.

Except that the second problem resurfaced, and it was an enigma wrapped inside a riddle wrapped inside the inscrutable gaze of Derek Hale. It should be so simple -- meet hot guy, have hot guy sex, and see if anything else came of it. But no, Derek had to take the ‘opposites attract’ thing a little too far and possibly be a vampire or murderer or both.

‘I guess being a vampire necessitates being a murderer, though,’ he said aloud, and the clock flipped to 3:36 in agreement.

Stiles groaned, grabbing his pillow and holding it tight over his face. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t below the waist pay attention to his damn brain for once? Why couldn’t he find Sexy Nick Who Didn’t Bathe on the third floor more appealing? It was probably easier to get someone to take a shower than it was to stop them being a vampire murderer.

 _‘I’m on the second floor, apartment 212. Come see me if you want._ Not _tomorrow night.’_

The memory of Derek’s voice whispered in his ear, low and seductive. He groaned and turned over, away from the clock, and cursed softly as his gaze fell on the window and the steady stream of light from the full moon.

‘Screw this,’ he muttered, kicking the covers from the bed. There was a possibility that his sexy super was going around murdering people to death for treading in dirty foot prints or something. He couldn’t just lay idle and let him get away with it. Stiles was his father’s son through and through and he knew when to trust his gut; his instincts were telling him something was up with Derek Hale.

He dressed quickly, and crept across the den to the front door. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to move the couch from blocking the door. Lydia had _not_ taken news of yet another murder on their floor remarkably well. He thought on this, then returned to his room to fetch the baseball bat. He locked the door behind him, figuring that if Lydia was murdered, she’d find some way to haunt him forever with her nagging ringing in his ear until the day he died.

The hallway was quiet and dark. He crept past the other apartments, bat clutched tight in his hand as he moved past the elevator. He had seen enough horror films to know not to risk that, thank you very much. He wasn’t getting squished in half or murdered by a dead thieving granny possessed by Beelzebub. God, that movie had sucked. M. Night Shyamalan _really_ needed to stop doing things. Instead, he headed to the stairwell.

He had begun to push on the door when a scraping noise from the other side made him freeze in terror. An angry, baffled growl echoed from below. A tremor passed through him; he backed away from the stairs, closing the heavy fire door behind him.

Fuck it, he didn’t care what Shyamalan had in store for him, he was going into the fucking elevator. Better a shitty make-no-sense twist than being torn apart by angry hell hound teeth. He broke into a run, squealing in terror as the noises behind him increased. He heard the fire door in the stairwell fling open and then slam shut.

 _Oh, God, oh, God_ , _oh God_! He ran full welt towards the elevator, hand slamming repeatedly on the button as he reached it. _Come on! Come on! Deus ex Machina me, you metal bitch!_

It was waiting. Stiles _knew_. Waiting and watching. _Don’t look!_ His mind seemed to scream. _Don’t fucking look!_ But his head was already turning, his eyes already focusing on the creature in the shadows.

_Sweet mother of God._

It was huge. A giant hulking mass of fur and claws. Claws that clenched and unclenched as if impatient to taste his fragile flesh. Its breathing was shallow and excited, Its enormous chest heaving on every pant. The eyes were vibrant rich red.

‘Please,’ he whispered, holding the bat out in front of him. ‘Just go. Please! You don’t want to eat me anyway. I’ll probably taste like mac and cheese but from a box, you know, totally gross.’ He took a trembling step back. ‘In fact, Scott bit me in the third grade because I took his favourite crayon without asking and he said I tasted just awful and--’ Stiles faltered as the creature slowly began to advance. ‘Stay! Heel! Go in a far flung opposite direction!’

The animal leaned back on its hind legs, ready to pounce.

‘Mother---’

It leapt through the air at an unnatural speed, teeth bared and claws ready to rip into skin and bone.

‘--fucker!’ He swung the bat with all his might, hitting It across the face and gasping in pain as the ricochet of the blow tore at his shoulder. ‘Oh, man.’ He held up the bat -- well, half of the bat. The other half was several yards across the hall. It roared in rage and dived for him again as Stiles ducked back and pierced the shattered remains of wood through the creature’s left paw in a violent, vicious strike.

Barely pausing to register the howl again he was off, sprinting down the corridor to reach the staircase on the other side of the building. Where were all the damn drug dealers? He could barely get through these corridors without having a switchblade pulled on him half the time. Were they on a strike?

The creature let out another ear-splitting howl, and this time someone roused themselves enough to scream threats against the dog next door, but nobody came out to help him. He hammered on a couple of doors, but was too scared to stop and wait for somebody to open up; he could hear the terrifying scrape of claws behind him, and getting closer with each passing second.

Slamming through the doors, his aching shoulder exploding into more pain, he flung himself towards the stairs. He couldn’t hear anything anymore, anything other than his ragged breathing as he ran. He was going to die. He was going to die torn and bloody on the steps of his crappy apartment block. His dad was probably going to be the one to get the call. They were probably going to have to draw chalk outlines over the seven thousand chunks of flesh that were going to be scattered all over the building. He was--

‘No!’

Stiles gasped as his foot came down swiftly onto empty air and he was pitted forward. He scrambled for the handrail, fingers barely gracing it as he went down. He gasped in pain as his head connected with something hard. He clutched at his skull as the world went black.

* * *

 

‘Stiles? Stiles, are you okay?’

‘What? I don’t--- Shit!’ He sat up so fast that Derek had to dive backwards to avoid having a mouthful of Stiles’ forehead. ‘The thing! The thing! The _thing_!’

‘Stiles! Easy, you hit your head pretty hard.’ Tentative fingers touched at the back of his skull as dizziness overcame him. ‘What the hell are you doing on the stairwell in the middle of the night?’

‘We’ve--- Derek, we have to go! It’s coming! I stabbed it with a baseball bat and It’s going to be seriously pissed.’ He made to get up but nausea overcame him and Derek rose quickly, steadying him at the waist.

‘Okay, you need to calm down. Don’t exert yourself.’

‘You jumped off the fire escape. I saw you.’ Stiles said, stumbling a little as his legs felt weak. ‘You were like, _flying_ and stuff.’

Derek’s lip twitched. ‘You’re delirious,’ he said smoothly.

‘No, _you’re_ delicious-- no, I mean delirious. I meant delirious! No, you totally did, I saw you and your _eyes,_ man.’ He blinked slowly. ‘Its eyes were red. Like blood.’

‘Stiles,’ said Derek softly. ‘You could have concussion. Well, you _sound_ like you have concussion. You should really get to a hospital.’ Derek pressed a hand to Stiles head once more, the palm warm and firm against his skin. The pain was fading at least, thank God for that. ‘I’ll take you.’

‘No, no. I’m fine. I hate hospitals.’

‘Nobody likes hospitals, Stiles, except hypochondriacs and insurance companies.’

‘No, please, honestly. I’m just--- I saw--’ He frowned. What _had_ he seen? ‘I don’t want to go. I just need to sit down for a minute.’ He glanced around him confused. ‘Hey, where’s my bat?’

‘Fine then,’ sighed Derek. ‘But you can’t just go to sleep. You need someone to watch you. Wake you every couple of hours to make sure you’re okay. Perhaps I could--’

‘Lydia can do that,’ murmured Stiles, feeling the fatigue pulling at him. ‘Consider it payback for all the nights she’s kicked me awake.’ Lydia was the most violent of sleepwalkers, Stiles had learned.

‘Oh.’ Derek finally pulled back, his lips tight and narrowed. ‘Yeah, Lydia-- I didn’t--- Yeah.’

‘Yeah. Lydia.’ Stiles closed his eyes and let his head loll back. ‘So much hair in the shower.’

‘You’re going to fall. Come here.’ Derek pulled him into an embrace and helped him stand up straight again. ‘I’ll help you.’

With Derek’s arms around him, he didn’t feel that vague dull fear which always seemed with him, and which he masked with humour and obstinance. It felt different. It felt different to just let things go and trust the man next to him. It felt… _good_.

He dared a glance at Derek, and was startled to see that solemn gaze levelled at him. They were silent; Derek’s admonition that words would ruin everything came back to him. He sighed with relief when he felt Derek’s grip around him tighten, but could not hold back his moue of disappointment when Derek broke the gaze and turned away.

‘Let’s get you back to Lydia,’ he murmured.

‘Yeah, okay. You may need to… there’s a couch, you see...’ he began.

Derek cast him a confused look, and he cringed. He was rambling, he knew it. He couldn’t even get the words out properly about Lydia’s security, or why he’d come creeping down that hallway, let alone the crazy thing he’d just seen. How to even begin to explain to Derek what had happened when he wasn’t sure himself? All that he was sure of was that he had stabbed the brute in the hand. Paw, whatever.

He decided he must say something to Derek. If he were indeed a low-rent version of Batman, he should know these things. He composed the story in his head while Derek knocked at the door of their apartment, flirted with grumpy, tired Lydia a little and then helped guide him into the den and onto the sofa (inevitably gripping his sore shoulder too hard).

‘Thanks, man,’ said Stiles. He grabbed Derek’s hand. ‘I really owe you one. But I need to--’ the words died on his tongue and he dropped Derek’s hand; he stared up at the super, his heart hammering in his chest.

‘What do you need?’ asked Derek, flashing him a humourless grin.

‘Plenty of rest, that’s what!’ said Lydia, holding back a yawn. She took Derek’s arm and led him from the apartment.

Stiles strained to listen as she promised Derek she’d keep him updated, and pulled a cushion onto his lap and hugged it tightly. ‘Lydia,’ he croaked as she walked back into the den.

‘I know, I know!’ she said. ‘I’ll go get the blankets and I’ll set the alarm -- once every two hours, he told me. I hope you are sorry for the totally gross bags this is going to leave under my eyes!’

‘Lydia, will you just shut up and listen!’

‘Stiles!’

‘I’m serious,’ he said. He regarded her gravely. ‘Lydia, help me move this couch against the door.’

‘What? Oh, stop worrying about that. Old Mr. Ramos told me that they’ve arrested Sexy Nick.’

‘It wasn’t Sexy Nick! It was _him_!’ hissed Stiles. ‘It was Derek!’

She frowned. ‘You’re just confused. Did you hurt your head much? I saw the blood on Derek’s hand.’

‘The blood isn’t mine! I stabbed _him_! He’s the goddamn beast!’

Lydia rubbed at her temples, flopping down beside him. ‘Go to sleep, Stiles.’

‘But, Lydia---’

‘No, Stiles, I beg of you. No Batman. No gymnasts from the depths of hell. No late night stair head butting. Just go to sleep and continue this nervous breakdown in the morning, because if you utter one more word that isn’t ‘good’ and ‘night’ then I am going to finish off that last steps job. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah, but--’

_‘Do you understand?’_

Stiles nodded glumly, thankful for the fatigue which finally began to spread through him. Sleep would be good. He could try and make sense of everything when he’d slept.

Lydia wrapped her arms around his waist, helping him to his feet and keeping him steady as she led him to his room. He waved her away when she tried, rather _eagerly_ he thought, to help him undress and instead climbed under the covers still clothed.

As the door snicked shut, Stiles closed his eyes and let the tiredness drag him down into the darkness. And in that sea of black, he saw again that pair of unblinking red eyes, watching and waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia folded her arms, staring at the window. ‘I don’t like it. They clash with the drapes.’

‘It’s not for _decoration_ ,’ said Stiles scornfully. ‘But you can paint them with nail polish or something if you don’t like the colour.’

‘I don’t have any real opinion on the colour of garlic bulbs,’ she snapped. ‘Probably because I don’t use them as decorations!’ She reached up to pull the garlic from the window ledge, but Stiles whipped out a hand and pushed her away.

‘No, Lydia! This is _my_ apartment and the garlic stays!’

‘You think Nosferatu is going to come crawling through the window?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I believe the _super_ is going to crawl through the window. Or leap through it. Or turn into like fog or something and come through the vents.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘The air vents! Do you think I should put a black cat in there or something?’

‘No, Stiles,’ she said. ‘I think the Christmas songs on repeat would drive it crazy. Speaking of which… I’m going to end up smothering you in your sleep if you don’t turn them off!’

Her voice had become a roar. He backed away from her, holding his hands up placatingly. ‘They were the most holy songs I own. I think I have _Like a Prayer_ on my iPod but I can never decide if that celebrates or insults Chr--Christiani-- put the iPod down, Lydia!’

‘I will not!’ she screeched. ‘You just listen to me, Stiles! I can’t take another second of th--’

There was a knock on the door. Lydia’s rage was instantly dampened by the requirement to be demure in front of her fans on the block; she placed the iPod back down on the table and stood there, left eye twitching slightly as Mariah Carey informed them of all the things she didn’t care about receiving for Christmas.

‘Thank you,’ said Stiles. He wandered towards the door. ‘Scott? Is that you? You’re early, bud. Did you bring the crucifixes?’

‘It’s me,’ said the person behind it. ‘Come on, it’s Derek. Open up.’

Stiles blanched. ‘Just a minute!’ he croaked.

As he scrabbled about, picking up trinkets, Lydia scowled. ‘He’s using the door? Would you fathom it? I thought he was fond of scaling windows.’

‘Get off my case, woman!’ said Stiles. He opened the door gingerly, thrusting a homemade crucifix of a knife and fork bound together at Derek. ‘Get a load of this!’ he said.

Derek blinked. ‘Your utensils?’

‘The power of Christ compels you!’ Stiles said. He frowned. ‘I’m not quite sure what he compels you to do but he is pretty damn insistent about it.’

Derek looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. ‘I thought I told you to keep checking on him. You know? To avoid brain damage.’

‘What? Oh,this?’ She curled a lock of  hair around her finger and shrugged. ‘This is just Stiles being Stiles. Endearing, isn’t it?’

‘Damn right, it’s Stiles.’ He nodded swiftly. ‘You just remember that, Derek.’

The super frowned. ‘I’ll be sure to.’

 Lydia clapped her hands together. ‘So, how can we help you?’

‘There’s been a complaint about the Christmas music you’ve been playing all day.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, one complaint, three death threats and one request for you to explain why you haven’t played _Fairytale of New York._ ’ Derek nodded towards the iPod dock. ‘Turn it down.’

‘Why don’t you come in and turn it down?’ said Stiles challengingly.

Derek raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you booby trapped the apartment or something, champ?’

‘I didn’t invite you in, you see. Come on, cross the threshold and turn it off.’

‘Okay,’ said Derek, stepping from the hall into the apartment. Stiles gasped and moved backwards as the super walked over and turned the music off. ‘Technically, asking me to come in to turn it off was an invitation.’ He stuck out his lip. ‘It was also a bit of an asshole’s trick, truth be told. I’m your _super_. I am not your butler,’ he said severely.

‘Classism isn’t an attractive trait,’ said Lydia, shaking her head.

‘ _What_?’ gasped Stiles. ‘Lydia, you know that wasn’t the reason I made him come in!’

‘Well, then, why?’ she asked. She paused, then rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, this is _ridiculous_.’

‘What’s ridiculous?’ asked Derek.

‘Nothing!’ said Stiles quickly. ‘Okay, so you can leave now!’

‘There’s the classism again,’ said Derek, bristling.

‘No, it’s not! I was just--’

‘Just what?’

‘I wanted to find out if...’ he faltered. How exactly was he to explain he wanted to know if Derek was an undead vampire from hell? It sounded ridiculous.

‘What?’ pressed Derek.

He shrugged. ‘It was totally a class thing.’

Derek pointed an accusing finger at him and grimaced. ‘Not cool.’

Lydia came in between them. ‘He doesn’t mean it. His head is making him talk like this. That and overdosing on repeats of _Downton Abbey_.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my head!’ exclaimed Stiles. ‘My head is fantastic!’

‘Whoa!’ Lydia winked. ‘Keep it PG there, pal.’

‘That’s not what I--- Shush!’ Stiles turned back to Derek who was looking at the floor awkwardly, ears a tinge of pink. ‘Shush! There is nothing wrong with my--- I’m _fine._ Emotionally, mentally and--’ He gave a little flex, ‘--physically.’

‘That’s great,’ said Derek flatly. ‘What were you even doing wandering around at that time of the morning?’

‘What was I doing? I was Van Helsining the heck out of you--’

‘Stiles!’ Lydia whacked him hard in the arm. ‘I mean, _Stiles_ , perhaps you two should go discuss this at length. Over coffee. Or Italian food.’ Lydia caressed Stiles’ aching bicep. ‘Stiles just _loves_ Italian food.’

Derek cast her a disinterested look. He turned to the window. ‘‘Are those--- are you hanging garlic bulbs up in your home?’

‘Why, are they bothering you? Are they bothersome? Do you feel bothered? Bothered and repelled?’ Stiles squinted. ‘Do they _intimidate_ you?’

‘Yeah, so you should probably go get checked out at the hospital.’

‘Oh, those!’ Lydia twilled, a touch of hysteria in her voice now. ‘Those are-- those are. Wills and Kate! They have them in their---castle. I saw this spread in a magazine. Apparently this is all the rage over there.’ She gestured towards them with the fake impressed grin of a game-show host. ‘Ta-da. It’s rigid out-dated concepts of rule and oppression chic!’

Derek blinked. ‘Have you hit your head, too?’

Lydia laughed wildly. ‘You’re _so_ funny. Stiles is funny. Oh, you should be funny together!’ She nudged Stiles in the ribs. ‘He’s funny with me all the time, and it’s just the sweetest thing.’

‘I don’t want to hear this,’ grumbled Derek.

‘I don’t know what I’d do without him!’ said Lydia. ‘You should--’

‘That’s enough!’ he barked. ‘Fine. Just keep the noise down in here and I don’t care what kind of sick games you’re playing with each other, but you _will_ remove those garlic bulbs from the windows.’

Lydia tutted. ‘If I had a cent for every time I’ve been asked that.’

‘I’m hoping you’d have one cent,’ said Stiles.

Lydia threw back her head and laughed throatily. ‘And that’s what makes Stiles so loveable, you see. That wit! And those eyes. I mean. isn’t he a great catch?’ Stiles waved his cross cutlery with narrowed, suspicious eyes at Derek. ‘A great--- a great catch. Don’t you agree, Derek?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

‘Uh, yeah. I guess.’

Despite his fear, Stiles couldn’t help preening a little. The super hot evil vampire thought he was a _catch_. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I totally am, and that’s why I’ll protect Lydia from bad things!’

Lydia stiffened. ‘I don’t _need_ saving, you idiot.’

Stiles made to retort, but Derek held up his hand, cutting the conversation off. ‘It’s all right. It’s fine; I understand. I won’t bother you two again.’ He stalked past Lydia and out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

‘Stiles! Do you have any idea how hard it is to wingwoman for you when you threaten people with ugly art projects? And why the hell is there a TV Guide nailed to our door?’

‘My door, Lydia. _My_ door. And because Jim Caviezel is in that issue.’ He paused. ‘It’s the closest thing we have to a Bible, okay. It’s called a workaround.’

Lydia pressed two fingers to her temples and massaged slowly. ‘You know what. Some people are just meant to be single. You are beyond help.’

She turned on her heel and headed to her bedroom leaving Stiles to stare at the door in contemplation. There was something going on here and no one would believe him until he had hard, irrefutable concrete evidence.

And he knew exactly where he could find it.

* * *

 

Night had fallen. Lydia had left to pick up some of her belongings from Jackson’s house, along with Allison, whom she insisted she would need to hold her back if he started ‘Intense Staring’ again.

Perfect. She would be gone for hours.

Stiles turned all the lights off in his apartment and pushed his bed up against the window so that he could lay on his stomach and watch the parking lot without being seen. He lined up his essentials for the wait: binoculars, rucksack with various lock-breaking appliances, a bag of Doritos.

Time passed slowly. He didn’t dare look away from the window and had to keep pushing his cell farther and farther away from him so that he didn’t give into the temptation to start playing a game on it. He watched various people come and go, and by the time of the 10pm delivery of takeout drugs from the local dealers, his body was stiff and sore. He’d been waiting at the window for hours, with no sighting of Derek Hale.

The super’s Camaro was still there. Stiles had focused his binoculars on it countless times throughout the night, half-expecting some clue to manifest itself. Nothing did.

Another half an hour passed by, and then the unmistakable body of Derek Hale, silhouetted in the moonlight, strode purposefully towards the car from the building. Stiles hissed with delight and caught him up in the viewfinder of his binoculars, swooping down from his head and lingering a little on the firm ass moulding those jeans into a denim-clad work of art. It was important to be _thorough_.

Derek got into the car and peeled away from the parking lot with a screech of tyres. ‘Of _course_ you drive like a prick,’ muttered Stiles, watching his headlights disappear into the distance.

He leapt from the bed and gathered up his belongings, shoving a handful of Doritos into his mouth. He had no idea how long Derek would be gone, but if he excelled in anything, it was snooping, and quickly.

He sprinted down the hallway and bounded down the stairs towards the second floor, coming to a halt at Derek’s door. ‘Right, let’s get to work,’ he said. He pulled out a credit card and began to slide it against the gap in the door. He fiddled with it for some time, but the card snapped in half. He pulled out a pair of Lydia’s tweezers and tried poking them through the keyhole, to no avail. The door stayed resolutely shut.

‘Hey, man. What are you doing?’ came a voice behind him.

Stiles froze. ‘Wh-what?’ He turned to see a man standing behind him, dressed in nothing but a curly wig, ugg boots and white briefs.

The man leaned against the wall near him, his crotch level with Stiles’ face. ‘Dude, you’re trying to break into Derek’s apartment.’

‘No, no! I’m just...um… testing the door...’

‘He doesn’t even have anything good in there. I checked this morning.’

Stiles raised an eyebrow. ‘Wait, you did?’

‘Yeah, man. I like to steal his socks every so often. Guy’s got like an entire cabinet full of them. He’s _weird_.’ He patted Stiles’ shoulder. ‘Anyway, I just came to tell you that you don’t need to keep exerting yourself and all. He keeps a spare key under the doormat.’

Stiles moved from the mat and pulled it up. ‘Who does that?’ he howled. ‘Really? _Really_? Our super doesn’t even know the first thing about security?’

‘Told you, he’s weird. Anyway, have fun.’

The man strolled away, whistling, as Stiles opened the door. He crept through the hallway and turned into the kitchen, pulling open drawers and looking under the cabinets. There was nothing much of interest, except that it revealed Derek’s eating habits to be based on nothing other than fresh vegetables and what looked like half a side of cow being prepared on the counter.

He left that room and started on the bedroom, trying desperately not to be turned on by the rumpled bedsheets and the vague scent of manly Derek sweat which hung in the air. He had just knelt to look under the bed when he heard a loud clang from the door at the other side of the bedroom.

‘Shit!’ he cried, banging his head against the bedframe as he sat up quickly. ‘Hello?’ he called out, nervously approaching the door.

There was an answering whimper, like that of a dog.

‘Hello?’ Stiles choked.

‘In here!’ came a male voice, not Derek’s. It sounded like it was teetering on the brink of exhaustion.

Slowly, Stiles moved towards the direction of the yell, the clattering noises ceasing as he neared. Sweat was pooling into the base of his spine and his heart was hammering madly at his chest. Something was very wrong.

He eased the door open slowly, cringing slightly at the threat of an oncoming blow. A nondescript en-suite bathroom greeted him as he stepped over the threshold, eyes searching the room for the owner of the voice. ‘Whoa,’ he whispered. ‘What the hell?’

The man was slumped against the radiator, his right wrist manacled to it with thick steel handcuffs which looked much sturdier than those Stiles had seen his father carrying. The man looked up and gave him a foxy smile. ‘A little help here, pal?’

‘Oh, my God! I don’t--- why are you handcuffed? Did--- did Derek kidnap you? He totally did, didn’t he? Why? Why the hell did he chain you up like a-- like a---’

‘I honestly cannot begin to guess,’ answered the man smoothly. ‘Perhaps because he is a gigantic prick?’

‘I know, right?’ Stiles crossed the room quickly, dropping to his knees in front of the stranger. ‘I was just expecting to find a bat cave or satanic emblems etched into the walls in cat blood. Not a freaking prisoner.’ Stiles clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘ _Oh, my God_. Are you a sex slave? Because I’ve seen this kind of freaky Fritzl stuff--’

The man regarded him for a long moment. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, I’m a sex slave.’

‘Oh, my God---’ Stiles gaped. ‘What’s that like?’ The man tilted his head with a raised eyebrow. ‘Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. I’ll wait until you write your book.’ He looked around him in a panic. ‘Do you have the key?’

‘Of course!’ He jangled his wrist. ‘That’s why I’m _still_ handcuffed to the radiator.’

‘Well, there’s no need for sarcasm!’ Stiles snapped back. ‘I was just asking! Hmm, do you know where he maybe left it?’ He stood up, dusting down his jeans. ‘Should I go look?’

The man stared, unblinking.

‘Good point. Absolutely. Looking now! You wait here! Uh, not that you could oppose that instruction. Never mind! I’m looking, I’m looking!’ He winced as he ran back into the living room. Perhaps Scott was right, he did have foot in mouth disease.

Where did psycho-hostage-taking possible vampire monsters hide their captive’s keys to release, anyway? He grabbed at the couch cushions, flinging each one behind him as he searched. Damn, Derek was tidy. Not a crumb or cent piece in sight. Stiles had once found a still-functioning Furby downthe back of his own sofa. Then again, he didn’t need to clean incriminating forensic evidence away each day like _some_ people, so it made sense in a twisted way.

He returned to the kitchen, pouring out the tin of sugar into the sink. He remembered seeing a movie once and that was totally where that killer psycho had kept the key-- plus, there was no way Derek’s body had ever met sugar, so it stood to reason that he would find another use for it.

A salt shaker, two packets of flour and a box of foul-smelling tea later, Stiles was no closer to finding the key. The drawers, the mantle, and other rooms did not spit it up, either. He was slowly moving from panic to complete hysterical meltdown.

God, this was the worst. Derek was going to walk in and turn into sex slave ensnaring radiator attaching beast. He _had_ to find the key. He was running out of time.

‘I can’t find it! I can’t find it!’ he yelled, running back to the bathroom. ‘This is impossible! He could come back at any moment and then we’ll both be sex slaves. Oh, I know! I’ll call the cops. Yeah, I’ll call the cops!’

‘Don’t be _ridiculous_!’ snapped the man. ‘You’re not calling the cops.’

‘Why not? This is a totally cop calling situation, dude! It’s pretty much textbook! It’s probably the first thing they get taught at the academy when describing cop calling situation scenarios.’ He patted at his jeans, frowning on realising he had left his cell back in his apartment. ‘Crap. Does he have a landline?’

‘Listen, listen you can’t call them. Because---’

‘Because what?’’

‘Well, you see…’ he paused, considered. ‘I have Stockholm Syndrome.’

Stiles blinked. ‘You do?’

‘Yeah, so you’d probably send me into the mental depths of despair and severe post-traumatic stress disorder if you were to force me to confront the reality of my situation so suddenly.’

‘Oh, right.’ Stiles shifted from one foot to the other. ‘The thing is-- you called him a prick.’

He nodded. ‘Well, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah, I’m not disputing that, but… why would you call him a prick if you have Stockholm Syndrome?’

‘That. Right.’ He banged his head against the radiator. ‘Right. Well, obviously, we have a Heathcliff and Cathy thing going on here. It’s a really intense form of Stockholm Syndrome. The worst.’

Stiles nodded. ‘Yeah, they _were_ pricks, but...’

‘And I obviously don’t really think he’s a prick, because I am siding with him in this situation. Having Stockholm Syndrome and all.’

‘So you take back the comment about him being a prick?’

‘No.’

‘So--- that’s not how Stockholm Syndrome works is it?’ Stiles shrugged. ‘You should be all violently, irrationally defensive and heart-eyed over him. Like a Justin Bieber fan watching a video of him spitting at teenagers.’

‘This is fascinating. Truly. Perhaps we can discuss this _outside._ ’

‘I’m just saying--’

‘Fine. Fine. I take it back. Now get back to trying to find that key!’

‘Say it, though.’ Stiles urged. ‘Say you don’t think he’s a prick.’

‘Is there a name for what is the matter with you?’ The man sighed. ‘Okay, sure!’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I don’t--- I don’t think he is a prick.’

‘See? I feel a lot better about this already and-- are your fingers crossed?’

‘Will you unlock these handcuffs, you complete and utter imbecile!’

'I can't find the key, man! I told you! Although it's kind of reassuring that he is more security conscious with kidnapping than he is with his front door.' Stiles tapped at his lips. 'He didn't make you eat it, did he? Like that Kevin Spacey movie?'

The man pursed his lips, expression lost in thought. ‘Is that the one where he’s on death row? With Laura Linney? And at the end, there’s this twist where--’

‘Dude! Spoilers! I’m only halfway through it on my Netflix.’ Stiles sat back onto his heels. ‘There’s no use. I think we should call my dad if you won’t let me call the cops. He’ll know what to do. Because seriously, I've turned this place over. I even unfurled all of his socks-- all forty thousand-- and I can't find it yet the apartment key he willy nilly shoves under the--' Stiles’ eyes widened in realisation and he dived forward. 'Aha!'

'Are you kidding me? He was keeping it under the bath mat?' The man closed his eyes, counting under his breath. ‘I’ve swear I’ve seen more sophisticated episodes of Scooby Doo.’

Stiles turned the key, feeling his heart beating wildly at his chest as the lock snicked open. ‘There.’ He eased the cuff off, frowning at the strange dark marks around his hands. ‘Are you allergic to metal or something?’

‘Something like that,’ the man said in a silken voice. He rubbed at his wrists. ‘Let’s just say I find it quite a _bane_.’ He chuckled and Stiles let it pass. He imagined being chained up next to a toilet for God knew how long might weaken anyone’s sense of humour. ‘Now. _You_ must be Stiles,’ he said rising up and gripping at Stiles’s shoulder to follow. ‘I wish we could have met in a more pleasing and fragrant setting. Alas, that was not to be.' He crowded up in Stiles’ space, hands on either side of his head against the wall. ‘How can I _ever_ repay you?’

‘Uh, cash?’ Stiles shrugged. ‘I can wait until the book gets a film deal, though. That’s cool.’

‘Hmm, I see why my nephew likes you so much.’ His breath fanned against Stiles’ cheek. ‘You’re certainly intriguing. Why didn’t you run?’

‘Oh, you know. The good Samaritan, that’s me!’ He raised his hands and placed them against the man’s chest to maintain the space between them. ‘Look, I’m not one to judge and all but I think all the sex slavery stuff is making you act out. If you could, uh, cup a little less that would be great.’

‘What’s the matter? Don’t you--’

Stiles froze as he heard the opening of a door. ‘Derek,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, God! We are about to get seriously human trafficked. But, like, short haul. He’s going to tie me down to the dish washer!’

The man smirked. ‘It’s okay. Stay here. I’ll go--- _distract_ him.’

‘Dude, _noooo_ , you can do so much better. We’ll get you out of here and onto eHarmony. I think like, only a quarter of the people on there are likely to, you know, chain you up and enslave you.’

‘Stiles. Trust me.’ He patted at his cheek and winked. Turning towards the bathroom door, he squared his shoulders before taking a deep breath and stepping through into the living room.

Stiles gazed about the bathroom, desperately trying to find a weapon or a hiding place. From the hall, he heard shouting and the sound of somebody being slammed against a wall. He grabbed a weapon decisively and sprinted into the hallway.

‘Take that, you prick!’ he cried, squirting the shaving foam direct into Derek’s face.

The super clawed at his face, gasping in pain as the substance got into his eyes. ‘What the hell!’ he shouted, collapsing against the nearest wall.

‘That’s what you get for being a creepy-- oh, God.’  Stiles gaped in horror at the huge dog which stood next to Derek. He began to shake the can of shaving foam again.

‘Don’t-- stop that!’ snarled Derek. ‘You can’t fight it with shaving foam!’

‘Where did that dog come from?’ said Stiles. ‘And where the hell is --- where’s your Patty Hearst?’

Derek opened his mouth to reply, but the dog shoved past him and stalked slowly towards Stiles, who bolted back into the den, leaping up onto the sofa. ‘Call it off!’ he screeched.

With a display of incredible strength, Derek lifted the dining table and flung it at the beast. It shattered against the creature, and the sheer force of the impact sent it careening into the wall. It landed there in a shower of plaster, closing its eyes in pain or defeat or both.

‘Derek, what the fuck is that? How did you--’

‘Shut up!’ snarled Derek, as the room reverberated with a low, angry whine.

Stiles thought he would drop dead from fright when the beast’s eyes opened, glowing red more intensely in than before. It kept its cold predator’s gaze fixed on him as it clambered free of the remnants of the table.

‘Don’t you dare...’ said Derek, in a tone Stiles had never heard before.

The creature whipped around and focused on Derek. For a tense few seconds, it locked gazes with him. He stared back at it, unflinching. Then the creature flung itself at Stiles in a flurry of fangs and claws. He thought to raise his hands to defend himself, but his arms were leaden at his side. He couldn’t find the breath to scream as it roared towards him.

There was a heavy blow to his chest, and when he had gathered his wits about him again, he realised he was laying unharmed in Derek’s grasp.

‘Oh, thank God! Oh, I thought it was going to hurt me, or worse!’

Derek stared down at him, his mouth downturned, and his expression furious. ‘I’ll _kill_ you!’ he snarled. ‘What the hell are you even doing here? In _my_ apartment?’

‘To be fair, I was just looking for evidence to prove you were evil. I didn’t realise I’d end up being attacked by a rabid German shepherd or something.’

‘It wasn’t a German shepherd, you utter idiot! The _dog_ \--’ he pushed himself off Stiles and pointed to the open doorway. ‘The hostage--’ he gestured to the radiator. ‘Same. Goddamn. CREATURE!’

Stiles waved his hand. ‘Get out of here, you’re crazy. Why are you so crazy?’

Derek gaped, his hands clenched into fists at his side. ‘Did that look like a normal fucking dog to you? He was standing on _two feet and had bright red glowing eyes!_ ’

‘So? My friend, Danny, he totally taught his dog to play dead.’ Stiles ran his hand through his hair. ‘Werewolves. Really? Vampires yes, but--’

‘What are you even talking about?’

Stiles sighed, straightening up and walking towards Derek purposefully. ‘ _You._ You’re like some vampire devil monster thing from space.’ He nodded bravely. ‘Yes. I’ve known for some time.’

‘What the--- You can believe _that_ but not believe that the man you just met, Stiles, the man you just met four seconds ago is the werewolf you just saw with your own eyes?’

‘Well, he just seemed so clean-shaven. Dapper, you know.’

‘Oh, right, so _I_ look evil and he doesn’t because _he shaves close_?’

‘Dude, no offense, you are all kinds of crazy hot like the sun and all but you also give off this total baby head butting vibe. You can see why I jumped to the most obvious conclusion.’

‘ _The most obvious-_ \- wait, you think--’ He gave a little cough, hand to back of his neck as he looked away from Stiles. ‘You think I’m hot?’

Stiles flapped that away. Now was that the time to work on Derek’s insecurity issues. Clearly all that untouched sugar was just the tip of the iceberg. ‘Look, this whole werewolf thing. Are you sure? Maybe the dude just ran off. Traumatised by all the sex slaving and giant dog breeding. Or maybe he was freaked you taught it to walk on two legs and not something _useful_ , I don’t know, okay! I don’t know!’

‘Sex slaving?’ Derek made a strangling motion with his hands in Stiles direction. ‘I don’t---- Why do I even like---’ He closed his eyes and held a palm to his eyes. ‘Stiles, I don’t have the time to convince you of this. That guy is my uncle. He is also a werewolf. And he’s pissed off. Very pissed off. We have to find him, catch him and stop him.’

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, trying to take it all. He’d been right all along. Something supernatural was going on. God, he was so going to rub this in Scott and Lydia’s faces. ‘Geez. If you knew your uncle was a werewolf, why didn’t you have some sort of contingency plan in place?’

‘Why the hell do you think I had him _chained to a radiator_!’ roared Derek.

‘Hey, man, I’m not here to judge.’

Derek placed his head into his hands and let out a roar of frustration, before grabbing Stiles by his shirt collar and pulling him close. ‘This-is-all-your-fault!’ he said, shaking Stiles with each word. ‘There’s a werewolf on the loose which could kill everyone here! We have to catch it or there’s blood on your hands!’’

‘ _We_? No, man! I don’t want to go chasing after that thing. It’s tried to kill me twice! Can’t you get the ASPCA in or something?’ said Stiles, horrified.

Derek bared his teeth. ‘You help me, or you’ll regret it.’

Stiles stared up at him. ‘Th-that’s what I was going to say. Yep. I’m totally up for this.’ He gingerly lowered his foot, trying to find purchase on the floor. ‘Do you think we’ll need garlic bulbs? I have a lot of garlic bulbs. Lydia’s already made a few dozen vats of aioli.’

‘Not a vampire. Stiles! Werewolf!’

‘Well excuse me for not being the freaking Talamasca!’ Stiles slapped at Derek’s hand, struggling free and adjusting his shirt with a faux brave roll of his shoulders. ‘Now let’s go get that puppy and take it to the pound.’

‘Put down the shaving foam, Stiles. I swear to God--’

‘Ugh,’ grunted Stiles. ‘Werewolves, though, it’s like my _least_ favourite genre.’


	6. Chapter 6

 

_It's Christmas time_

_There's no need to be afraid_

_At Christmas time_

_We let in light and we banish shade_

_And in our world of plenty_

_We can spread a smile of joy_

_Throw your arms around the world_

_At Christmas time_

‘Lydia!’ gasped Stiles as he flung open the door. ‘Jackson!’ They pulled apart from each other’s faces, looking a mixture of embarrassed, horny, smug and annoyed-- although for Jackson, this was his default expression. ‘You’re--- you’re _kissing_.’

Lydia shrugged, tucking a curl behind her ear. ‘We couldn’t help it. It’s the magic of Christmas.’

‘It’s June,’ Derek pointed out, standing behind Stiles with his arms crossed and the corners of his lips twitching. ‘And again, turn the damn music down.’

‘I cannot believe this,’ said Stiles striding towards him. ‘You swore that you wouldn’t go back! You said it was over. You even pinky swore on it!’

‘Stiles, come on.’ She turned to survey Jackson. ‘I mean, just _look_ at him.’

Jackson smirked. ‘She has a point.’

‘Okay, conceded, but I’m still pissed as hell.’ Stiles shook his head. ‘I mean, really, Lydia, _really_?’

‘Oh, no.’ Derek smiled. ‘This is terrible. I’m _so_ sorry.’

Lydia crossed her arms, raising her chin haughtily. ‘I don’t owe you anything, Stiles, and it was nice while it lasted and you do keep a very clean house and make a mean sandwich but you have to realise that when it comes to my physical needs that-- oh, oh, wait. _TONIGHT, THANK GOD IT’S THEM.._.’

_‘INSTEAD OF YOUUUU!’_

Stiles turned to stare incredulously at Derek.

‘What?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s impossible _not_ to do that.’’

‘You know, there are actually 26 rivers in Africa and it does actually snow.’ Lydia inspected her smudged lips in her compact. ‘Plus, 48 per cent of the population is Christian, so they probably _do_ know it’s Christmas. They just don’t care. They just want everyone to stop, I don’t know, being condescending and xenophobic in rhyme.’

‘I know, Lydia,’ said Stiles. ‘I reblogged that the _first time_ you posted it.’

She tilted her head. ‘Really? I don’t know. I stopped following you after the fifty seventh blog of Homes _trohhhhh!_ ’

‘Oh, my God, Jackson! Will you stop that?’ Stiles glared at the man currently attached to Lydia’s neck. ‘We’re _talking_!’

‘Never mind!’ Derek said brightly, bringing his hand down on Stiles’ shoulder. ‘I’m sure you’ll love again. Shall we go to your room and lay out our strategy?’

Stiles narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s with all the grinning, dude? Did you remember Bambi’s mom died or something?’

‘Yes. That’s exactly it. Come on.’ Derek spun Stiles around, ignoring his protests, and frog marched him to his room.

‘You can’t come in here!’ gasped Stiles. ‘It’s a mess!’

‘I’ve seen it now,’ said Derek. ‘So it’s okay. I’m not offended.’

‘ _I’m_ offended!’

Derek pushed him inside and closed the door behind them. He stood there, arms folded, as Stiles gave him the grand tour.

‘So--- this is my room.’ Stiles clapped his hands together. ‘That’s my wardrobe. That’s my chest of drawers. That’s my damp patch that I, kinda, I need to talk to you about and uh, that’s-- that’s my bed. I sleep in there. Sometimes. I mean, sometimes I don’t just sleep. Sometimes I, uh, read and I--’ Stiles bit his lip at seeing Derek seat himself on the end of the bedspread, giving a little bounce as if testing the springs. ‘That’s--’ He licked his lips. ‘Wow, that’s thorough of you.’

Derek smiled lazily. ‘What can I say? I like to go over things from top to _bottom_.’ He grimaced. ‘Pretend I didn’t say that.’

Stiles shrugged, confused. ‘O--kay. Listen. So. Werewolves. Apparently that’s a thing, right?’

Derek sighed, nodding slowly. ‘I hate this part.’

‘What part?’

‘Having to convince you. Why were you so quick to believe _I_ was some evil monster, but I’ve had to give you several pep talks about the monster which you saw _with your own eyes_?’

Stiles shook his head. ‘Dude, I believe you about the monster. That’s not the problem.’

‘Then what is?’

‘I still think you’re a goddamn monster!’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Do you really -- I mean, do I look stupid enough to believe that you are a normal person, but somehow overpowered a-- a werewolf?’ He held out both arms. ‘ _Really_?’

Derek flexed. ‘Yep.’

‘I give up.’

‘Would you listen to yourself?’ said Derek, laughing humourlessly. ‘You’re not making sense.’ His lips twisted into a cruel smile. ‘You’re _delusional_. Everyone knows it.’

‘I know what I saw,’ whispered Stiles. ‘And I won’t rest until Lydia--’

‘Until what?’ said Derek. He stood up from the bed, moving to block the doorway. ‘Until she believes your wretched fantasies?’ He shook his head emphatically. ‘That isn’t going to happen. She’ll say you’re crazy. They’ll all say you’re crazy.’

‘Stop _Gaslighting_ me!’ said Stiles. ‘Let me out--'

Derek watched him silently, his eyes glittering like blue ice in the darkness. Then he moved forward, and Stiles caught his breath, tensing. He shut his eyes as Derek came close and inhaled deeply against his throat, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

'Are you frightened?' Derek gave him a cold smirk. 'You should be frightened.'

He opened his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. ‘I-- at least you’re smiling,’ he said, trying to sound flippant. He wasn’t sure that worked, as he choked out the words in fright.  

Derek placed both hands against the wall, trapping Stiles in his embrace. ‘No point trying to be brave, little boy. I can hear your heart beating faster and faster.’ He lay his right hand against Stiles’ chest, his smile widening as Stiles’ heart hammered more frantically in response to his touch. ‘It could be one of two things...’

‘A heart attack?’

He considered. ‘Okay, three things. But mainly extreme fear, or extreme arousal.’ He smiled. ‘Which one is it?’

‘Uh, extreme fear of having a heart attack?’

Derek leaned closer, inhaling Stiles as he pressed his face closer. ‘I wanted you from the first day, you know. The day in the elevator. God, your _scent_ , Stiles.’

‘I-- what? Elevator?’

‘But I could smell her, too. All over you.’ Derek’s lips were close enough to touch now. Close enough to press against fevered skin. ‘I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t quite--- Not until the night of the full moon. When you said---’

‘Dude, is this a gas leak hallucination? Because I asked you to check those vents.’

‘There’s no trace of her in here, Stiles. There’s only _you.’_ Derek pulled back, eyes dark and seering into Stiles’. ‘Only you.’ He pressed forward, lips hovering just shy of Stiles’. Despite his reservations, despite his fears and his confusion, Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut and tilted his head following Derek’s pull like water to the moon.

 _‘ARGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_ ’

Stiles darted backward, his head hitting the wall behind him hard and painful. ‘What-- what? Was that _Lydia_?’

But Derek wasn’t listening, lips pulled back and eyes flashing blue, Stiles was startled to see canines sharpening and growing into place as he snarled.

‘Where _the fuck_ did your eyebrows just go?’

‘He’s here,’ growled Derek. ‘He’s in the apartment.’ Derek released Stiles’ shoulders and flew for the door. Stunned, Stiles could only stare for a moment in confusion, his lips tingling and his head aching. What the hell had--- _Lydia!_

Sucking in a gasp, Stiles followed Derek, his heart pounding in his chest. God, if that monster hurt her… He stumbled in confusion at the half-decorated Christmas tree now standing in the middle of his room. Wow. When Lydia committed to a bit she _really_ committed to a bit.

‘Get away!’ A shriek came from behind the couch and Stiles saw Jackson’s magnificent forehead creeping over the top of the cushions. ‘Get away!’  

‘What happened?’ demanded Stiles. ‘Where’s Lydia?’

‘It took her! It took--’ Jackson began to shakily crawl out from behind the couch. ‘I tried to stop It. I swear!’

‘Shit,’ said Stiles. ‘First werewolves and now _Pennywise?_ You better lower my rent, dude.’

‘Took her where?’ growled Derek. ‘Tell me.’

‘It-- GAH!’ Jackson screeched as his gaze landed on a very angry, very 70s sideburns sporting Derek. ‘No!’ He grabbed up a pile of tinsel and threw it with a roar at Derek’s face. ‘Take that!’

Both Jackson and Derek stared down at where it had landed. Over Jackson’s knee. He fumbled for it, reaching down and picking it up, before casting it into Derek’s face again. ‘Stay away! Monster! Help! My beautiful face!’

‘It’s overrated,’ said Stiles, shoving him away. He turned away from Jackson, who had raised his hand to push him back. ‘Just stop. We have a crisis here and throwing tinsel about isn’t going to help anyone.’ He took a deep breath and pointed a finger at Derek accusingly. ‘This was _your_ problem and now my friend may be hurt. What are we going to do?’

Derek bit his lip. ‘We save her?’ He gazed past Stiles, to where Jackson stared. ‘What?’

‘You want me to go and face down that angry German shepherd?’ He scowled. ‘Yeah, right. Just call the cops. They can come here and blow its head off.’ He reached for his cellphone.

‘No!’ said Stiles. ‘Don’t!’ 

‘Don’t you tell me what to do!’ said Jackson hotly. He gasped in pain as Derek reached over and crushed the hand holding the cellphone. ‘What the fuck!’

‘If you bring the cops here, half the block will be after you,’ said Derek. ‘But first they’ll have to stop me from ripping your head off.’ He snatched Jackson’s cellphone from him and flung it at the wall, where it shattered.

‘That’s a $500 phone, you asshole!’

‘What does that matter?’ said Stiles. ‘Come on, focus!’

Derek began to sniff at the air.

‘It’s Calvin Klein,’ whimpered Jackson. ‘I’ve had a lot of compliments.’

‘Stiles!’ said Derek, ignoring him. ‘Come on, I’ve got his scent!’ He vaulted the couch and ran supernaturally fast towards the door. ‘Come on!’

Stiles turned to Jackson. ‘Are you coming or...’

‘No,’ gasped Jackson staring into Lydia’s dropped compact. ‘Look at what that monster did to my hair!’

‘I’m going to take that as a--’

‘STILES!’

Shaking his head in disgust, Stiles straightened his shoulders and swiftly followed Derek. Maybe when they saved Lydia, she would finally see what a douche Jackson really was. Even if his hair still looked fantastic after a werewolf attack.

* * *

 

The basement. The creature had led them to the basement. Drawing to a stop, Stiles bent over with his hands on his knees, panting as his heartbeat came down. ‘God, this thing really is evil,’ he gasped. ‘We couldn’t have taken the elevator?’

‘I’d have lost the scent,’ muttered Derek. ‘And why are you complaining? I carried you down that last flight.’

‘Despite my many, _many_ protests!’ Although, Stiles had appreciated the continuous accidental cuppage during the jolting. ‘You nearly drop-- Lydia!’

A mass of red hair and tinsel writhed in the dim light from a basement window. Lydia was gagged, but her infuriated muffled shouts reverberated around the floor.

‘Go, help your friend,’ said Derek. ‘He’s somewhere around -- I’ll find him.’

Stiles nodded. ‘Okay!’ He ran over to Lydia and knelt down beside her. ‘Are you-- did he tie you up in tinsel?’ He tugged down on the gag. ‘Are you okay? Did he hurt you?’

‘Hurt me? I am covered in cheap tinsel, Stiles! Cheap! I can hear my skin breaking out! And this place is _so_ dusty. This dress is going to have to be dry cleaned, and you’re paying for it!’

‘It’s okay. It’s okay, you’re in shock. I’ll get you out of here.’ Stiles glanced back over his shoulder at Derek who was staring around the basement with his wolf lamps. ‘Lil’ help here, super strength buddy?’

‘He’s still here.’ Derek threw his hands out, claws extending as he snarled. ‘Come out, Peter, you’ve got nowhere to go.’

‘The most insulting part -- no, really, the worst thing about this situation -- is the reliance on the _damsel in distress_ cliche. Thank you, Stiles. Thank you for reducing me to _this_.’

‘Actually,’ a silky voice silked from behind them. ‘I was reaching for that _Just Seventeen_ model with the facial spasms but then he threw _you_ at me so I just made it work.’

‘Shit,’ whispered Stiles. ‘It’s Team Jacob.’

Lydia glared. ‘Congratulations. You’ve mastered the fine art of cliché; you don’t need to practice any further.’

Derek snarled and curled his body, ready to pounce, but Peter was too quick. Darting forward, he grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and yanked him up, pressing his back against his stomach and curling a hand around his chest.

‘Ah, ah, ah-- Derek. Temper, temper.’ He moved between Derek and Lydia, shaking Stiles in his grip as if he were a ragdoll. ‘We don’t want to relive one of our more messy confrontations, do we?’

‘Please! Why are you doing this?’ Lydia said from behind them. ‘We’ll turn the music down! I swear!’

‘I wanted to get you both alone, my dear.’’ Peter continued. ’And you seemed the perfect carrot to dangle.’

‘Gingerism!’ Stiles croaked, as the arm pulled him even closer. ‘It’s a protected characteristic!’

‘You know,’ said Lydia, ‘if you wanted to confront us you probably could have just, I don’t know, sat down on the couch while Jackson poured you a cup of coffee.’ ’

Peter blinked. ‘Damnit!’

‘Why are you doing this to me, huh?’ snarled Derek. ‘You _know_ how stressful my life is with this block, and the gangsters, the poltergeist on the fifth floor and that freak who keeps stealing my socks.’

‘I know--’ said Peter.

‘I will _not_ have you chewing people up and making my life harder! So get back up there and wait out the--’

‘You’re not chaining me to the radiator again,’ said Peter abruptly. ‘You can just fuck right off.’

‘Excuse me?’

Peter smirked. ‘Go on. _Stop_ me.’ He cast a glance at Stiles. ‘Or would that ruin the facade? Have you told Tadzio there the whole story?’

‘Stop,’ growled Derek.

‘Unless...’ said Peter. He leant forward, his warm cheek next to Stiles. ‘Unless you’re looking for a new recruit?’

Stiles struggled against Peter’s arm. ‘Whoah, there. I’m a vanilla sort of guy, you know. Whatever this _thing_ is, you can both just go and be weird together. Just hand over Lyds and we’ll just avoid eye contact in the corridor.’

‘Really?’ Stiles gasped as Peter pressed his lips to his ear, impossibly close. ‘But they are _such_ pretty eyes.’ he purred.

‘I think I need an adult!’

‘Let go of him,’ demanded Derek. ‘Don’t touch him.’

‘Hmm?’ ‘Are we feeling a little jealous, nephew?’ Stiles worried at his lip as a curved claw was held up in front of him, before delicately tracing along his cheekbone. ‘Does our brooding hero have a weak spot after all?’

‘My “weak spot” is not being happy at you killing off hapless, innocent people!’ snarled Derek.

‘Innocent?’ said Peter with a bitter laugh. ‘Do you know anything about your precious residents?’

‘All that the man in 501 did wrong was play the Bee Gees day and night,’ said Derek. He considered. ‘And littered.’ He bit his lip and looked away angrily.

Peter pulled away from Stiles and smirked. ‘Really? And you never considered that he might have been the asshole responsible for the double homicide last week?’

Derek shifted uncomfortably. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘Please. If you bothered to socialise with anyone save Moley and Screechy here, you’d know that he’d boasted about it to half the block.’

‘Why didn’t you just tell the cops, then!’ snapped Stiles.

‘Because, _boy_ , I prefer more immediate justice.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m a maverick who plays fast and loose with the rules.’ He winked at Lydia. ‘Gives me more of a roguish air than staring menacingly at people, huh?’

Lydia frowned. ‘Don’t pay attention, Derek. I find your stoicism nice.’ She glared at Peter. ‘Why didn’t you just _tell_ us this instead of freaking everyone out and making us come here to a dark, dank basement and, you know, wrapping me in tinsel?’

‘He never listens to me, that’s why!’ hissed Peter.

Stiles nodded. ‘I… I can understand you on that.’

‘Hush, you,’ said Peter. ‘Anyway, I’ve cleared my name, so I’ll just be going now--’

‘Not so fast!’ snarled Derek. ‘You still _killed_ someone. You’ve still exposed us!’

‘To whom?’ said Peter. ‘To these two twinks?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Kill them, then, and you can just go on living your life like before.’

‘What?’

‘Hey, man. It’s your choice.’

Lydia turned to Derek, tears springing to her eyes. ‘Really? After all we’ve been through?’

‘I barely know you,’ mumbled Derek.

‘I baked you a _cake_!’

Peter placed his hand in the small of Stiles’ back, then thrust him at Derek. ‘Go on, Judge Judy. You decide what happens.’

Derek regarded Stiles coldly for a moment, then flicked his eyes back up at Peter. ‘You don’t have a hostage now. I can just kill you.’

‘Please, you aren’t going to kill me.’ He sauntered up to Derek and ruffled his hair fondly. ‘I know you hate the Bee Gees almost as much as littering. Consider it a service.’ He held up his wrists in front of Derek. ‘Unless you want to rip me apart now, in front of your little pets?’ He snapped a finger. ‘Or! You could chain me to the radiator again and listen to me humming _How Deep is Your Love_ for another six months…’

‘Or I could rip out your tongue,’ said Derek, oozing malice.

‘Do it, then.’ Peter came up close to him and hissed in his ear. ‘Do it.’

Derek clenched his fists. He seemed to tremble with fury and indecision; he cast a sly look at Peter, and then at Stiles and Lydia huddled together in the corner. ‘Get out,’ he whispered. ‘Next time I see you, I _will_ finish it.’

Peter backed away from him, towards the door, holding his hands up placatingly. ‘Already gone. Give my regards to Cora.’

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles roused himself and walked over to Derek. ‘Seriously? You’re going to let a psycho werewolf killer just _leave_?’

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said Derek darkly.

‘Try me!’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘He’ll kill some poor old lady, or a cop, or-- or like a genius or something!’

‘He won’t,’ said Derek. ‘Because he knows I’ll make good on my threat.’ He shook his head. ‘That was his first kill in nearly two years.’

‘That you know of! What if he gets it in for Chris Brown fans?’ He paused. ‘Okay, bad example. But you’re a numbskull, I swear to God!’

‘You infuriate me,’ said Derek, stepping closer, his voice silky and dripping with menace.  ‘You were willing to believe the worst about me, you never listened to a word I said, you willfully misunderstood every overture of friendship I made.’

‘So why are you telling me all this?’ snapped Stiles. ‘Okay, I get it! I’m the world’s worst person!’

‘Did I mention your insistence on hyperbole?’

Stiles threw up his hands. ‘That’s it! I’m tired of being insulted and intimidated and… and… initiated by you--’

‘What?’

‘Forget it,’ said Stiles, shoving past Derek. He gasped as the super grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. ‘Get off me, you--!’

Derek's lips met Stiles', hungry and insistent, and then in something deeper as he wrapped his arm around Stiles and pulled his body against his own.

Stiles' hands caressed Derek's face, moving over his hair and down his neck to knot his fingers in the fabric of Derek's sweater, tugging him closer, as he deepened the kiss. He moaned in delight at the sweet salty feel of Derek’s tongue. He couldn’t get enough of the raw sensuality Derek exuded. He felt himself harden as Derek ran his own hands over his body, mirroring his caresses. God, was it always--

‘Ahem,’ coughed Lydia. She held up her bound hands. ‘A little help?’

  
Derek pulled away from Stiles. He gave a crooked grin. ‘How about I come check out that damp patch in your bedroom?’


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologise for the lateness of this epilogue. We have a very good reason. We were individually trying to watch five years of Breaking Bad between interims of work, sleeping and eating. The majority was taken up by the latter.

**One Month Later**

  
  


The moon was a sliver of white in the star-spattered sky. Derek paused at the window as he entered the room, and gazed up at it, contemplatively being handsome and growing stubble.

‘Hey,’ said Stiles, his greeting turning to a yawn. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Laying traps,’ answered Derek sombrely, stepping away from the window.

‘Peter?’ Stiles sat up, suddenly alert. ‘He’s back?’

‘No, that goddamn sock thief. I only have the left sock from each pair.’

Stiles gave him an appraising look; he decided not to run with this line of conversation. It could go on all he night. Had, in fact, gone on for several nights. ‘But no word from Peter?’ he asked instead, as Derek moved towards him, settling onto the edge of the bed.

‘No, nothing. Either he’s learned his lesson or is waiting to make a dramatic entrance.’ 

‘Yeah, from what I know of your special register of an uncle, it’s probably the latter.’

‘Trust me, Stiles, _if_ and it’s a big _if_ , Peter tries to come back and make trouble for us then he will wish he hadn’t. You can count on that.’ He moved towards the bed, the moonlight creating a silver frame around him, illuminating him almost lovingly. ‘He knows there’ll be no second chances.’

‘Derek,’ Stiles spoke up, his voice low and husky. ‘Can I ask you something?

‘Sure,’ replied Derek taking another step forward, his voice equally as ragged, eyes never moving from Stiles’ lips. ‘Anything.’

‘Are you---’ Stiles swallowed. ‘Attracted to Lydia’s menses?’

‘I...what?’

‘I read it somewhere! I mean, is it like catnip to you? But _wolf_ nip?’ Stiles frowned. ‘Should I ask her to stay away four days a month?’’ Stiles placed a hand on his own chest. ‘Let _me_ help _you_ , man.’

‘One- you’re thinking of _bears_ , two- I’m pretty sure she would rip your arms and beat you about the face with them if you even _tried_ to begin a sentence that stupid and three- you are a fucking idiot. I can’t believe I’m dating you. I should have saved myself for the sock thief, I swear.’

Stiles gave a lazy smirk. ‘Don’t act like you don’t want this.’ He gestured along his body. ‘You want up all over this and you know it.’

Derek stopped at the end of the bed, frowning down at Stiles. ‘I question my sanity, daily, you know.’

‘Is it because of the socks?’

‘Can we not talk about that right now? It’s highly upsetting.’

‘But--’

‘No, shut up.’ Derek kissed him fiercely, driving all thought of socks away from Stiles’ mind.

He smiled into Derek’s kiss, gazing up into his eyes as Derek pulled away. Derek’s eyes took on that especially liquid, dilated look which alarm or arousal caused in him.

It sent a thrill of longing crashing through Stiles. He pushed away from Derek and tried to steady himself. ‘I like this, I like-- us--- It’s been me and my dad for so long and--’ he babbled. ‘I had him sure, but there was always this loneliness, this sense of being incomplete.’ Stiles sighed. 'My mother-- she died when I was young.'

Derek's stare turned tender and he brushed his fingers across Stiles' jaw. 'Most of my family, my parents, siblings, and all the people I loved most in the world died in a house fire.'

Stiles blinked. 'Did you just--- did you just try and top trump my dead mom?'

'What? No! It's just-- I know how empty saying I'm sorry is in reply--'

'Yeah for _sociopaths!_ '

'-- and that I understand your pain!'

'Then preface it with “I understand your pain because, tragic blaze”, dude!'

'I feel like _'died in a house fire'_ means something else in your world, Stiles. I was just trying to share with you and let you know that I emphasise and know just how hard it is-- but obviously, like, _eleven_ times more than you do.'

‘Will you-- stop being a Billy Two-Shits!’

‘I’m not being a--- what?’

Stiles shook his head. ‘You know? A Billy Two-Shits, if I’ve had one shit, Billy’s had two.’’ He scowled. ‘Look, wait, wait, that’s not the point.’ He buried his head in his hands with a groan. ‘Oh, my God, you don’t deserve my heartfelt declaration of love, you really don’t.’

‘Declaration of love? Stiles. _Stiles!’_ Derek tugged on his hands. ‘You--you love me?’

‘Well, _duh_!’ Stiles winced. It was no “you complete me” that’s for sure. ‘I mean, yeah. I do. Like a lot. I feel-- I feel like every time I’m in the same room as you that my life got a little bit better. Because you are there. Near.’ Whoa, rein it in, Richard Curtis. ‘I- uh- like, I totally dig you?’ Stiles covered his face with his hands once more. He was _so_ going to die alone.

‘I love you, too, Stiles.’ Derek whispered, pressing kisses to Stiles’ knuckles. ‘More than I ever realised I could love someone.’

Pulling his palms away from his eyes, Stiles whimpered, as he always did, when Derek pulled his T-shirt over his head. Fuck whoever invented clothes, Derek’s was a torso that should be included in the damn school curriculum. ‘Okay, kissing is a thing that we should do. _Now,_ ideally.’ He scrambled out of his own shirt, forgetting every single tip _Cosmopolitan_ had given him on how to do so correctly. Hell. He hadn’t reached the end of the article, anyway, damn prompt orthodontist.

Derek certainly didn’t seem to mind as he pushed Stiles back onto the bedspread, and pressed his lips to his, those powerful hands roaming over Stiles’ rapidly heating skin.

Stiles broke the kiss, smiling into Derek’s cheek.. ‘This is all pretty new to me. I mean, my first love was totally unrequited so to- God- to have you say it back is just really freaking awesome.’

Derek clasped a hand to the back of his neck and pressed his body down, his heart beating in harmony with Stiles’. ‘My first love died. Then my second one used me to murder all my family. In the aforementioned house fire.’

‘ _For fuck’s sake, Derek!_ You must be fucking hell at an AA meeting.’

‘Hmm.’ Derek tilted his head. ‘Well, they did ask me to leave grief counselling when I began bringing in the scatter charts.’

‘God, I love you,’ huffed Stiles.

‘And I love you.’ Derek grinned. ‘God knows why.’

‘And I’m sorry your past makes _The Road_ look like a something produced by Chuck Lorre. I really am.’ He tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair. ‘I promise I’ll _never_ hurt you, Derek.’

Derek answered with a nip to his bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood. ‘Fuck, Stiles, you’re so hot.’ Derek’s lips whispered against his. He pressed a hand to the bulge in Stiles’ jeans, the warmth of his palm spreading through the thick fabric. With a bitten back groan, Stiles’ rolled his hips on instinct as Derek’s hand inched slowly and carefully up his leg, his breath warm against Stiles’ neck as he squeezed his thigh. Stiles shook his head gently, pleading with Derek to do something, _anything,_ only to tilt it back, powerless, when Derek’s finger reached out to caress Stiles’ zipper.

'Ju--- just hot?’ Stiles gasped. ‘That's _it_? Not, creamy pale skin like the finest ivory, lush pink mouth with a sinful cupid's bow, amber eyes like a strong whiskey or moles like constellations that you want to connect with your tongue? Just-- hot?'

'I'm not licking your moles, Stiles.' Derek answered, pulling the zipper downward. ' _That_ one has a hair sticking out of it.'

‘Hey! I don’t talk about your _Watership Dow_ n teeth--oh, God!’

Derek laughed softly around as his palm encircled Stiles’ cock, the touch making Stiles’ eyes roll backward and his hips thrust up. ‘Sorry? You were saying?’

‘Nothing! Nothing at all. Just woolgathering. Proceed! And with haste!’ Derek merely grinned in response and moved down Stiles’ torso, before stopping at his hips.  He paused, looking up to catch Stiles’ eyes again before dipping further below.

‘Ah--ah!’ gasped Stiles. ‘Quit teasing me and just--’

‘Hmm,’ murmured Derek into Stiles’ thigh. ‘What’s the hurry? We’ve got all night.’ With a half smile, he took a long, languid lick. ‘Are you with me on this?’

‘Oh! Okay. Cool! That’s-- very cool. Very, very _fuck_!’ Stiles bit down onto his knuckles as Derek worked, his mouth so perfect, wet and hot, and _God_ , the suction was driving Stiles wild. He clamped his other hand down to the back of Derek’s neck, his fingers reaching up to tug at Derek’s hair as Stiles groaned above him. ‘Please,’ begged Stiles as Derek managed to take him impossibly deep, the head of his cock rubbing against the soft patch at the back of Derek’s throat on each upstroke. ‘Please, Derek!’

Stiles struggled to keep his eyes from closing in pleasure as he shifted between watching the fast slide of Derek’s cock in his fist and watching Derek work him, throat bobbing as he continued to switch between sucking Stiles deeply, and twisting his hand around the base of Stiles’ cock.

‘Derek, Derek!’He threw back his head, mouth open and eyes rolled back as he lost control. A rush of pleasure ricocheted through him. He let out a strangled cry and fell back against the bed as Derek released him.

‘I told you,’ said Derek, grinning. ‘Better to take these things slowly. It pays off.’

‘ _Shhh_ , D’rek.’ Stiles slurred, eyes fighting to stay open. ‘I don’t take advice from men who wear only one sock.’

‘Low blow, Stillinski. I can’t believe you would bring something as traumatic as that up at a time like this.’

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. ‘Speaking of trauma: you’re banned when there’s a full moon out. I want to remain intact and all that.’

‘Bit too late for that.’

‘Ergh. Werewolves. _So_ crude. Why couldn’t you have been a vampire? That would have been cool. I fucking love velvet jackets and gold lamé.’

‘I’m not biting, Stiles. I’m not having a repeat of the _Rent_ debacle.’

‘Oh, my God! Because you are, like, Satan!’

‘Being _artistes_ is not a good enough excuse to never pay the damn rent! Landlords have to eat, too! And did they have to sing _every_ thing. Maybe they would actually have some money if they spent a little less time melodiously stomping on tables and _jobshaming_ people!’

‘Dude, you should see your eyebrows. They’ve got tiny frowns on them.’

‘Shut up, Stiles. I _can_ still evict you, you know.’

‘Hmm?’’ Stiles said. He placed his hands against Derek’s chest and with a surprising show of strength, flipped Derek onto his back. Before Derek could react, he straddled him and pulled his arms over his head, fondly tangling their hands together. ‘I guess I better get to work on repaying you for tonight.’

Derek raised an eyebrow. ‘Would this be a bad time to bring up the hike in rent?’

‘What? You son of a---’

  
**The End**   


AN NOTE: We wrote the Derek/Stiles relationship as a form of wish fulfillment. That’s how it was conceived, really. For reasons that have very little to do with literature and far more to do with our clinging to the plot as we first imagined it, Derek ended up with Stiles. We believe now that Derek would have been happier with the Sock Thief. At the very least, this would have ensured that both his feet were warm.

We are both on tumblr! You should totally add us and validate us! [[rebness ](http://diplomacywink.tumblr.com/)& [mothergoddamn](http://mothergoddamn.tumblr.com/)]

 


End file.
